Song of Solomon 6
1 To where has your beloved gone, O beautiful among women? To where has your beloved turned, And we seek him with you?
Hvor er din Ven gaaet hen, du fagreste blandt Kvinder? Hvor har din Ven vendt sig hen? Vi vil søge ham med dig.
2 My beloved went down to his garden, To the beds of the spice, To delight himself in the gardens, and to gather lilies.
Min Ven gik ned i sin Have, til Balsambedene, for at vogte sin Hjord i Haverne og sanke Liljer.
3 I [am] my beloved’s, and my beloved [is] mine, Who is delighting himself among the lilies.
Jeg er min Vens, og min Ven er min, han, som vogter blandt Liljer.
4 You [are] beautiful, my friend, as Tirzah, lovely as Jerusalem, Awe-inspiring as bannered hosts.
Du er fager, min Veninde, som Tirza, yndig som Jerusalem, frygtelig som Hære under Banner.
5 Turn around your eyes from before me, Because they have made me proud. Your hair [is] as a row of the goats, That have shone from Gilead,
Vend dine Øjne fra mig, de forvirrer mig saa! Dit Haar er som en Gedeflok, bølgende ned fra Gilead,
6 Your teeth as a row of the lambs, That have come up from the washing, Because all of them are forming twins, And a bereaved one is not among them.
dine Tænder som en Faareflok, der kommer fra Bad, som alle har Tvillinger, intet er uden Lam;
7 As the work of the pomegranate [is] your temple behind your veil.
din Tinding er et bristet Granatæble bag ved dit Slør.
8 Sixty are queens, and eighty concubines, And virgins without number.
Dronningernes Tal er tresindstyve, Medhustruernes firsindstyve, paa Terner er der ej Tal.
9 One is my dove, my perfect one, She [is] one of her mother, She [is] the choice one of her that bore her, Daughters saw, and pronounce her blessed, Queens and concubines, and they praise her.
Men een er hun, min Due, min rene, hun, sin Moders eneste, hun, sin Moders Kælebarn. Blev hun set af Piger, fik hun Pris, af Dronninger og Medhustruer Hyldest.
10 “Who [is] this that is looking forth as morning, Beautiful as the moon—clear as the sun, Awe-inspiring as bannered hosts?”
Hvo er hun, der titter frem som Morgenrøden, fager som Maanen, skær som Solen, frygtelig som Hære under Banner?
11 To a garden of nuts I went down, To look on the buds of the valley, To see to where the vine had flourished, The pomegranates had blossomed—
Jeg gik ned i Nøddehaven for at se, hvor det grønnes i Dale, for at se, om Vintræet skød, om Granattræet nu stod i Blomst.
12 I did not know my soul, It made me—chariots of my people Nadib.
Før jeg vidste af det, satte min Sjæl mig paa mit ædle Folks Vogne.
13 Return, return, O Shulammith! Return, return, and we look on you. What do you see in Shulammith?
Vend dig, vend dig, Sulamit, vend dig, vend dig, saa vi kan se dig! »Hvad vil I se paa Sulamit, mens Sværddansen trædes?«
