Fathers

Song of Solomon 4

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Behold, you are beautiful, my love. Behold, you are beautiful. Your eyes are like doves behind your veil. Your hair is as a flock of goats, that descend from Mount Gilead. Your teeth are like a newly shorn flock, which have come up from the washing, where every one of them has twins. None is bereaved among them. Your lips are like scarlet thread. Your mouth is lovely. Your temples are like a piece of a pomegranate behind your veil. Your neck is like David’s tower built for an armory, on which a thousand shields hang, all the shields of the mighty men. Your two breasts are like two fawns that are twins of a roe, which feed among the lilies. Until the day is cool, and the shadows flee away, I will go to the mountain of myrrh, to the hill of frankincense. You are all beautiful, my love. There is no spot in you. Come with me from Lebanon, my bride, with me from Lebanon. Look from the top of Amana, from the top of Senir and Hermon, from the lions’ dens, from the mountains of the leopards. You have ravished my heart, my sister, my bride. You have ravished my heart with one of your eyes, with one chain of your neck. How beautiful is your love, my sister, my bride! How much better is your love than wine, the fragrance of your perfumes than all kinds of spices! Your lips, my bride, drip like the honeycomb. Honey and milk are under your tongue. The smell of your garments is like the smell of Lebanon. My sister, my bride, is a locked up garden; a locked up spring, a sealed fountain. Your shoots are an orchard of pomegranates, with precious fruits, henna with spikenard plants, spikenard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon, with every kind of incense tree; myrrh and aloes, with all the best spices, a fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, flowing streams from Lebanon. Awake, north wind, and come, you south! Blow on my garden, that its spices may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and taste his precious fruits.

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What the Fathers say

Song of Solomon 4:11

Western Saints

Bede

A dripping honeycomb, your lips, bride. A honeycomb is honey in the wax; but honey in the wax is the spiritual sense of divine words in the letter, which is rightly called a dripping honeycomb: for a honeycomb drips when it has more honey than those wax cells can hold, because thus indeed is the fertility of the holy Scriptures, that a verse which is usually written in a short line, if carefully examined and expressed, is found to fill many pages with how much inner sweetness of spiritual understanding it contains. …

Commentary on the Song of Songs ↗

Bonaventure

Sacred Scripture is a tongue, hence: "Sweetmeats and milk are under your tongue." This tongue enjoys the taste of food, wherefore these same Scriptures are compared to loaves of bread that nourish and are pleasant to the taste.

Collations on the Hexaemeron, Collation 12 ↗

Robert of Tombelaine

The preachers of the Church are rightly said to be the lips of the bride, because through them she speaks to the peoples, and through them the little ones are instructed in the faith, since through them the hidden things of divine Scripture, as if secrets of the heart, are made manifest. Now in a honeycomb, the honey lies hidden and the wax is seen. Rightly, therefore, the lips of the bride are called a honeycomb, because when great wisdom is held in the frailty of the flesh, honey is, as it were, hidden in wax. …

Commentary on the Song of Songs, Chapter 4 ↗