In English:

Beloved,

If only I possessed the knowledge to write, this very letter would be wholly yours. A letter to extol my affections and my everlasting gratitude for the honour of calling you my wife. Not before God, yet still in the name of love. A letter to keep you in sweet company within our home.

Did you observe the gift I left behind? They are all from our cherished secret refuge. I want to bestow upon you these crimson pearls, that you may think of me when I am not present. Perchance you can taste and remember me, in your mouth.

If only I possessed the skill, I would inscribe love letters that praise your waist. Your hands. Your warm secret. My heart does overflow with yearning for you. Perchance you do also long for me in my absence.

Our love is pure and just, notwithstanding the whispers of society. Our love is the sweetest of fires. Without you, I shall endure unspeakable torments, the agony of the abyss. They do term us ”backstugusittare”*. With you, I shall find joy within heated parlors or poorhouses. Naught is wanting in my heart.

I eagerly hope that, in spite of my shortcomings, you do still love me. Love me. You love me.

As I close mine eyes, I behold you, my beloved, seated upon the bench I crafted with mine own hands. With hands that yearn for you. You sit engaged in needlework, or rather a bouquet of flowers, such as we often admire in the meadows of our dreams. I would never cease to close mine eyes.

You, and only you, do possess my heart and all the love letters I am unable to write.

Your eternally, faithful wife.

*”backstugusittare” is a derogatory term for poor people who didn’t own their homes and didn’t have land for growing their own food

Översättningen är gjord av Moa Johansson och Nasim Aghili.

Translations by Moa Johansson och Nasim Aghili.