Song of Solomon 5
1 I am come into my garden, my sister, [my] bride; I have plucked my myrrh with my spice; I have eaten my sugar-cane with my honey; I have drunk my wine with my milk: eat, ye companions; drink, yea, drink abundantly, ye friends.—
«Ja, eg kjem til min hage, mi syster, mi brur, min myrra og balsam eg plukkar, mitt brød og min honning eg et og drikk min vin og mi mjølk. Ete lagsbrør, drikk dykkar nøgd, vener.»
2 I slept, but my heart was awake: [there was] the voice of my beloved that knocked, “Open for me, my sister, my beloved, my dove, my guiltless one; for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.”
«Eg låg og sov. Men mitt hjarta vakte, høyr! Der bankar min ven: Mi syster, min hugnad, lat upp, du mi duva, mi frægd! Mitt hovud er vått, av nattedogg lokkarne dryp.»
3 I have put off my coat: how shall I put it on? I have washed my feet: how shall I defile them?
«Eg hev teke av meg kjolen, skal eg klæda på meg att? Eg hev tvege mine føter, skal eg sulka deim til att?»
4 My friend stretched forth his hand through the opening, and my inmost parts were moved for him.
Min ven rette handi gjenom loka inn, då kløkktest mitt hjarta for hans skuld.
5 I rose up myself to open for my friend; and my hands dropped with myrrh, and my fingers with fluid myrrh, upon the handles of the lock.
So reis eg upp, vilde opna for min ven, av handi mi myrra det draup, av fingrarne rennande myrra det flaut og på dørlåset rann.
6 I indeed opened for my beloved; but my beloved had vanished, and was gone: my soul had failed me while he was speaking; I sought him, but I could not find him; I called him, but he answered me not.
So opna eg døri for min ven - då venen var kvorven burt. Og hugsprengd eg tenkte på hans ord. Eg søkte, men ikkje honom fann. Eg ropa på han, men ikkje gav han svar.
7 Then found me the watchmen that walked about the city; they smote me, they wounded me: they took away my vail from me, they that watched the walls.
Meg vaktaran’ møtte som i byen sveiv, dei meg slo, gav meg sår, og sløret ifrå meg dei tok, vaktaran’ på murom.
8 I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, what will ye tell him? that I am sick of love.—
Eg hjarteleg bed dykk, Jerusalems døtter, um de skulde finna min ven, - ja, kva skal de honom segja? - At sjuk av kjærleik eg er.
9 What is thy friend more than another's friend, O thou fairest of women? what is thy friend more than another's friend, that thus thou adjurest us?—
«Kva er din ven framom andre vener, du fagraste dros? Kva er din ven framum andre, når du naudbed oss so?»
10 My friend is white and ruddy, distinguished among ten thousand.
«Min ven er ljosleitt og raud, utmerkt framum ti tusund.
11 His head is bright as the finest gold, his locks are like waving foliage, and black as a raven.
Hovudet skiraste gull, palmegreiner er lokkarn’, svarte som ein ramn.
12 His eyes are like [those of] doves by streamlets of waters, bathed in milk, well fitted in their setting.
Augo som duvor ved rennande å, dei som laugar seg i mjølk ved braddfull sjø.
13 His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as turrets of sweet perfumes: his lips, like lilies, dropping with fluid myrrh.
Kinni som balsam-sengjer, som dåmurt-skrin. Lipporne liljor, som dryp av rennande myrra.
14 His hands are like wheels of gold beset with the chrysolite: his body, an image made of ivory overlaid with sapphires.
Henderne teiner av gull med krysolitar sette, midja av filsbein med safirar prydd.
15 His legs are like pillars of marble, resting upon sockets of fine gold: his countenance is as Lebanon, excellent like the cedars.
Føterne marmor-stolpar på fine gull-stettar. Som Libanon er han å sjå, som ein ceder traust.
16 His palate is full of sweets, and every thing in him is agreeable. This is my friend, and this is my beloved, O daughters of Jerusalem.—
Hans munn er søt, hugnad er han all. Slik er venen og felagen min, de Jerusalems døtter.»
