Song of Solomon 5

I am come into my garden, my sister, my spouse: I have gathered my myrrh with my spice; I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; I have drunk my wine with my milk: eat, O friends; drink, yea, drink abundantly, O 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!

I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.

Jeg sov, men mit hjerte våged; 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 Dråber."

I have put off my coat; how shall I put it on? I have washed my feet; how shall I defile them?

Jeg har taget min Kjortel af, skal jeg atter tage den på? Jeg har tvættet mine Fødder, skal jeg atter snavse dem til?

My beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door, and my bowels were moved for him.

Gennem Gluggen rakte min Ven sin Hånd, det brusede stærkt i mit Indre.

I rose up to open to my beloved; and my hands dropped with myrrh, and my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh, upon the handles of the lock.

Jeg stod op og åbned for min Ven; mine Hænder drypped af Myrra, mine Fingre af flydende Myrra, da de rørte ved Låsens Håndtag.

I opened to my beloved; but my beloved had withdrawn himself, and was gone: my soul failed when he spake: I sought him, but I could not find him; I called him, but he gave me no answer.

Så lukked jeg op for min Ven, men min Ven var gået sin Vej. Jeg var ude af mig selv ved hans Ord. Jeg søgte, men fandt ham ikke, kaldte, han svared mig ikke.

The watchmen that went about the city found me, they smote me, they wounded me; the keepers of the walls took away my veil from me.

Vægterne, som færdes i Byen, traf mig, de slog og såred mig; Murens Vægtere rev Kappen af mig.

I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, that ye tell him, that I am sick of love.

Jeg besværger eder, Jerusalems Døtre: Såfremt I finder min Ven, hvad skal I da sige til ham? At jeg er syg af Kærlighed!

What is thy beloved more than another beloved, O thou fairest among women? what is thy beloved more than another beloved, that thou dost so charge us?

"Hvad Fortrin har da, din Ven, du fagreste, blandt Kvinder? Hvad Fortrin har da din Ven, at du besværger os så?"

My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand.

Min Ven er hvid og rød, herlig blandt Titusinder,

His head is as the most fine gold, his locks are bushy, and black as a raven.

hans Hoved er det fineste Guld, hans Lokker er Ranker, sorte som Ravne,

His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.

hans Øjne som Duer ved rindende Bække, badet i Mælk og siddende ved Strømme,

His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers: his lips like lilies, dropping sweet smelling myrrh.

hans Kinder som Balsambede; Skabe med Vellugt, hans Læber er Liljer, de drypper, af flydende Myrra,

His hands are as gold rings set with the beryl: his belly is as bright ivory overlaid with sapphires.

hans Hænder er Stænger af Guld, fyldt med Rubiner, hans Liv en Elfenbensplade, besat med Safirer,

His legs are as pillars of marble, set upon sockets of fine gold: his countenance is as Lebanon, excellent as the cedars.

hans Ben er Søjler af Marmor På Sokler af Guld, hans Skikkelse som Libanon, herlig som Cedre,

His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.

hans Gane er Sødme, han er idel Ynde. Sådan er min elskede, sådan min Ven, Jerusalems Døtre.