Song of Solomon 5
1 [HE] I have entered my garden, my sister, bride, I have plucked my myrrh, with my balsam, I have eaten the honey of my thicket, I have drunk my wine, with my milk: —Eat ye, O friends, Drink, yea drink abundantly, ye beloved!
Jeg kommer i min Have, min Søster, min Brud, jeg plukker min Myrra og Balsam, jeg spiser min Honning og Saft, jeg drikker min Vin og Mælk. Venner, spis og drik og berus jer i Kærlighed!
2 [SHE] I, was sleeping, but, my heart, was awake, —The voice of my beloved—knocking! Open to me, my sister, my fair one, my dove, my perfect one, for, my head, is filled with dew, my locks, with the moisture of the night.
Jeg sov, men mit Hjerte vaaged; tys, da banked min Ven: »Luk op for mig, o Søster, min Veninde, min Due, min rene, thi mit Hoved er fuldt af Dug, mine Lokker af Nattens Draaber.«
3 I have put off my tunic, oh how shall I put it on? I have bathed my feet, oh how shall I soil them?
Jeg har taget min Kjortel af, skal jeg atter tage den paa? Jeg har tvættet mine Fødder, skal jeg atter snavse dem til?
4 My beloved, thrust in his hand, at the window, and, my feelings, were deeply moved for him:
Gennem Gluggen rakte min Ven sin Haand, det brusede stærkt i mit Indre.
5 I myself, arose, to open to my beloved, —and, my hands, dripped with myrrh, and, my fingers, with myrrh distilling, upon the handles of the bolt.
Jeg stod op og aabned for min Ven; mine Hænder drypped af Myrra, mine Fingre af flydende Myrra, da de rørte ved Laasens Haandtag.
6 I myself, opened to my beloved, but, my beloved, had turned away, had passed on, —My soul, had gone out when he spake, I sought him, but found him not, I called him, but he answered not.
Saa lukked jeg op for min Ven, men min Ven var gaaet sin Vej. Jeg var ude af mig selv ved hans Ord. Jeg søgte, men fandt ham ikke, kaldte, han svared mig ikke.
7 The watchmen who were going round in the city, found me, they smote me, wounded me, —The watchmen of the walls, took away my cloak from off me.
Vægterne, som færdes i Byen, traf mig, de slog og saared mig; Murens Vægtere rev Kappen af mig.
8 I adjure you, ye daughters of Jerusalem, —If ye find my beloved, what will ye tell him? That, sick with love, I am.
Jeg besværger eder, Jerusalems Døtre: Saafremt I finder min Ven, hvad skal I da sige til ham? At jeg er syg af Kærlighed!
9 [DAUGHTERS OF JERUSALEM] What is thy beloved more than any other beloved, thou most beautiful among women? What is thy beloved more than any other beloved, that, thus, thou hast adjured us?
»Hvad Fortrin har da din Ven, du fagreste blandt Kvinder? Hvad Fortrin har da din Ven, at du besværger os saa?«
10 [SHE.] My beloved, is white and ruddy, conspicuous beyond ten thousand:
Min Ven er hvid og rød, herlig blandt Titusinder,
11 His head, is pure gold, —his locks, are bushy, black as a raven;
hans Hoved er det fineste Guld, hans Lokker er Ranker, sorte som Ravne,
12 His eyes, like doves, by the channels of water, —bathing in milk, set as gems in a ring:
hans Øjne som Duer ved rindende Bække, badet i Mælk og siddende ved Strømme,
13 His cheeks, like a raised bed of balsam, growing plants of perfume, —His lips, lilies, dripping with myrrh distilling:
hans Kinder som Balsambede, Skabe med Vellugt, hans Læber er Liljer, de drypper af flydende Myrra,
14 His hands, cylinders of gold, set with topaz, —His body, wrought work of ivory, covered with sapphires:
hans Hænder er Stænger af Guld, fyldt med Rubiner, hans Liv en Elfenbensplade, besat med Safirer,
15 His legs, pillars of white marble, founded on sockets of gold, —His form, like Lebanon, choice as cedars:
hans Ben er Søjler af Marmor Paa Sokler af Guld, hans Skikkelse som Libanon, herlig som Cedre,
16 His mouth, most sweet, yea, altogether, he is delightful, —This, is my beloved, yea, this, is my dear one, ye daughters of Jerusalem.
hans Gane er Sødme, han er idel Ynde. Saadan er min elskede, saadan min Ven, Jerusalems Døtre.
