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?
Ɛhe na wo dɔfo no kɔ mmea ahoɔfɛfo mu ahoɔfɛ? Ɛhe na wo dɔfo man fae, na yɛne wo nkɔhwehwɛ no?
2 My beloved went down to his garden, To the beds of the spice, To delight himself in the gardens, and to gather lilies.
Me dɔfo kɔ ne turo mu, faako a woduadua nnua ahorow, okokyinkyin turo no mu akɔboaboa sukooko ano.
3 I [am] my beloved’s, and my beloved [is] mine, Who is delighting himself among the lilies.
Me dɔfo yɛ me de, na me nso meyɛ ne de; okyinkyin sukooko no mu.
4 You [are] beautiful, my friend, as Tirzah, lovely as Jerusalem, Awe-inspiring as bannered hosts.
Me dɔfo, wo ho yɛ fɛ te sɛ Tirsa, wʼahoɔfɛ te sɛ Yerusalem, wusi pi te sɛ asraafo a wɔretu frankaa.
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,
Nhwɛ me saa; wobunkam me so. Wo ti nwi te sɛ mpapokuw a wɔresian afi 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.
Wo se te sɛ nguankuw a wɔatwitwa wɔn ho nwi foforo, a wofi aguaree. Baako mpo nyeraa ɛ.
7 As the work of the pomegranate [is] your temple behind your veil.
Wʼasontɔre a ɛhyɛ wo nkataanim mu te sɛ ntunkum aduaba fa.
8 Sixty are queens, and eighty concubines, And virgins without number.
Ebia na ɔyerenom yɛ aduosia, mpenanom bɛyɛ aduɔwɔtwe, ne mmabaa dodow a wontumi nkan wɔn;
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.
nanso mʼaborɔnoma a ne ho nni asɛm yɛ sononko; ɔno nko ara ne ne na babea, ɔno na nea ɔwoo no no pɛ nʼasɛm. Mmabaa huu no no, wɔfrɛɛ no nhyira; ahemmea ne mpenanom kamfoo no.
10 “Who [is] this that is looking forth as morning, Beautiful as the moon—clear as the sun, Awe-inspiring as bannered hosts?”
Hena na wapue sɛ ahemadakye yi, ɔyɛ frɔmfrɔm sɛ ɔsram, na ɔhyerɛn sɛ owia, nʼanuonyam te sɛ nsoromma a wɔsa so.
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—
Misian kɔɔ nnuaba pɔw mu hɔ sɛ merekɔhwehwɛ afifide foforo a ɛwɔ obon no mu, sɛ bobe no agu nhwiren, anaasɛ ntunkum no ayɛ frɔmfrɔm.
12 I did not know my soul, It made me—chariots of my people Nadib.
Mʼani baa me ho so no na mʼadwene de me abesi me nkurɔfo adehye nteaseɛnam so.
13 Return, return, O Shulammith! Return, return, and we look on you. What do you see in Shulammith?
San wʼakyi, san wʼakyi, Sulamit babea; San bra, san bra ma yɛnhwɛ wo! Aberante: Adɛn nti na ɛsɛ sɛ mohwɛ Sulamit abeawa sɛnea mohwɛ Mahanaim asaw no?
