¹Hvor skønne er dine Trin i Skoene, du ædelbårne! Dine Hofters Runding er som Halsbånd, Kunstnerhånds Værk,

¹As the chorus of `Mahanaim.` How beautiful were thy feet with sandals, O daughter of Nadib. The turnings of thy sides [are] as ornaments, Work of the hands of an artificer.

²dit Skød som det runde Bæger, ej savne det Vin, dit Liv som en Hvededynge, hegnet af Liljer;

²Thy waist [is] a basin of roundness, It lacketh not the mixture, Thy body a heap of wheat, fenced with lilies,

³dit Bryst som to Hjortekalve, Gazelletvillinger,

³Thy two breasts as two young ones, twins of a roe,

⁴din Hals som Elfenbenstårnet, dine Øjne som Hesjbons damme ved Bat-Rabbims Port, din Næse som Libanons Tårn, der ser mod Damaskus,

⁴Thy neck as a tower of the ivory, Thine eyes pools in Heshbon, near the gate of Bath-Rabbim, Thy face as a tower of Lebanon looking to Damascus,

⁵Hovedet på dig som Karmel, dit Hoveds Lokker som Purpur; en Konge er fanget i Garnet.

⁵Thy head upon thee as Carmel, And the locks of thy head as purple, The king is bound with the flowings!

⁶Hvor er du fager og yndig, du elskede, yndefulde!

⁶How fair and how pleasant hast thou been, O love, in delights.

⁷Som Palmen, så er din Vækst, dit Bryst som Klaser.

⁷This thy stature hath been like to a palm, And thy breasts to clusters.

⁸Jeg tænker: Jeg vil op i Palmen, gribe fat i dens Stilke; dit Bryst skal være som Vinstokkens Klaser, din Næses Ånde som Æbleduft,

⁸I said, `Let me go up on the palm, Let me lay hold on its boughs, Yea, let thy breasts be, I pray thee, as clusters of the vine, And the fragrance of thy face as citrons,

⁹din Gane som ædel Vin, der liflig flyder ind i min Mund, glider over mine Læber og Tænder.

⁹And thy palate as the good wine —` Flowing to my beloved in uprightness, Strengthening the lips of the aged!

¹⁰Jeg er min Vens, og til mig står hans Attrå.

¹⁰I [am] my beloved`s, and on me [is] his desire.

¹¹Kom min Ven, vi vil ud på Landet, blive i Landsbyer Natten over;

¹¹Come, my beloved, we go forth to the field,

¹²Vingårde søger vi årle, vi ser, om Vinstokken skyder, om Knopperne åbnes, Granattræet blomstrer. Der giver jeg dig min Kærlighed.

¹²We lodge in the villages, we go early to the vineyards, We see if the vine hath flourished, The sweet smelling-flower hath opened. The pomegranates have blossomed, There do I give to thee my loves;

¹³Kærlighedsæblerne dufter, for vor Dør er al Slags Frugt, ny og gammel tillige; til dig, min Ven, har jeg gemt dem.

¹³The mandrakes have given fragrance, And at our openings all pleasant things, New, yea, old, my beloved, I laid up for thee!