A Song-of-Songs
My belovèd is like unto a slender fir-tree,
Like unto a singing water-brook,
And like unto a budding rose
When the dew falleth at morning-tide.
And her beauty's might is as it were a great army,
Which overthroweth its enemies
With a thunderous noise, and rusheth forward
And crieth aloud: “Who can resist me?”
Say unto me, ye daughters of Vermland,
Ye who tend flocks in the mountains,
Or sit by the roadside
Conversing together,
Have ye seen my belovèd,
Have ye seen whether my budding rose
Went by this way?
For behold! her going is as a dance over the meadows,
Yea, as a dance of the daughter of a great king;
And her voice is as a sweet sound,
Yea, as the sound of merry music in the mountains;
And the delight of her countenance
Is as the sun upon the lakes,—
Upon the beautiful lakes in the valleys.
I came unto the dwelling of my belovèd
When evening was cool and the shadows were lengthening,
And the birches of my belovèd's father stood up green,
And the scent of the birches was more fragrant than myrrh,
Than nard and all the powders of the apothecary.
See! my belovèd wandereth in the garden
And she concealeth herself from the sight of mine eyes
Beneath bushes of gooseberry and currant.
Like unto a young lion she lieth in wait,
Like a bold band of robbers in ambush,
Taking counsel in the naughtiness of her soul
How she may surprise him whom she loveth,
To the end that she may devour him
With her mouth — which is not very large —,
And with her lips, which are red as good wine.
Like unto a storm she came out from the bushes,
Yea, like unto a mighty storm with wind and rain;
When the hailstones are as the falling of lilies,
And the rain is as a rain of roses,
And the wind is as a loud laughter
And the echo of many cymbals.
And she fell upon me and took me captive
To be her prisoner of war and her slave,
And she pronounced to me the wrath of her lips
And gave forth a judgment and said:
“Thou art welcome to my father's dwelling,
Behold! thou art esteemed most dear and wholly welcome.”
And she brought me forth from the pantry
The juice of raspberries from the garden,
And precious pastry and many cakes
And we ate thereof and talked together unto the going-down of the sun.
But alas! many days have gone by
Since I looked upon the eyes of my belovèd,
And my thoughts go astray upon forgotten by-paths,
Because my belovèd is before all others
On this land,
Because she is like unto a young fir-tree,
And unto a singing water-brook,
And unto the sunlight upon the lakes,—
Upon the beautiful lakes in the valleys.
Say unto me, ye daughters of Vermland,
Ye who tend sheep and cattle in the mountains;
Or converse together by the roadside,
Have ye beheld her whom my soul loveth,
Have ye seen whether my belovèd
Went by this way?
Like unto a singing water-brook,
And like unto a budding rose
When the dew falleth at morning-tide.
And her beauty's might is as it were a great army,
Which overthroweth its enemies
With a thunderous noise, and rusheth forward
And crieth aloud: “Who can resist me?”
Say unto me, ye daughters of Vermland,
Ye who tend flocks in the mountains,
Or sit by the roadside
Conversing together,
Have ye seen my belovèd,
Have ye seen whether my budding rose
Went by this way?
For behold! her going is as a dance over the meadows,
Yea, as a dance of the daughter of a great king;
And her voice is as a sweet sound,
Yea, as the sound of merry music in the mountains;
And the delight of her countenance
Is as the sun upon the lakes,—
Upon the beautiful lakes in the valleys.
I came unto the dwelling of my belovèd
When evening was cool and the shadows were lengthening,
And the birches of my belovèd's father stood up green,
And the scent of the birches was more fragrant than myrrh,
Than nard and all the powders of the apothecary.
See! my belovèd wandereth in the garden
And she concealeth herself from the sight of mine eyes
Beneath bushes of gooseberry and currant.
Like unto a young lion she lieth in wait,
Like a bold band of robbers in ambush,
Taking counsel in the naughtiness of her soul
How she may surprise him whom she loveth,
To the end that she may devour him
With her mouth — which is not very large —,
And with her lips, which are red as good wine.
Like unto a storm she came out from the bushes,
Yea, like unto a mighty storm with wind and rain;
When the hailstones are as the falling of lilies,
And the rain is as a rain of roses,
And the wind is as a loud laughter
And the echo of many cymbals.
And she fell upon me and took me captive
To be her prisoner of war and her slave,
And she pronounced to me the wrath of her lips
And gave forth a judgment and said:
“Thou art welcome to my father's dwelling,
Behold! thou art esteemed most dear and wholly welcome.”
And she brought me forth from the pantry
The juice of raspberries from the garden,
And precious pastry and many cakes
And we ate thereof and talked together unto the going-down of the sun.
But alas! many days have gone by
Since I looked upon the eyes of my belovèd,
And my thoughts go astray upon forgotten by-paths,
Because my belovèd is before all others
On this land,
Because she is like unto a young fir-tree,
And unto a singing water-brook,
And unto the sunlight upon the lakes,—
Upon the beautiful lakes in the valleys.
Say unto me, ye daughters of Vermland,
Ye who tend sheep and cattle in the mountains;
Or converse together by the roadside,
Have ye beheld her whom my soul loveth,
Have ye seen whether my belovèd
Went by this way?
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