The folllowing came to mind:
Surge, amica mea, speciosa mea
et veni, columba mea
in foraminibus petrae
in caverna maceriae.
Arise, my love, my beautiful one,
my dove in the cleft of the rock,
in the hollow places in the wall.
Not because I know the Song of Songs that well, but because of the thing of beauty it has been fashioned into. Dietrich Buxtehude and St Bernard of Clairvaux joined forces to produce a profound meditation on the wound in the side of Our Lord. And maybe no coincidence, but the text forms the gradual of today's Mass for the Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes.
Just beautiful, just beautiful
Hail redeeming side,
where is concealed sweet honey;
where is laid out the vigour of love,
and whence surges forth the fountain of blood
that cleanses soiled hearts.
Behold I approach thee
-save me, Jesus, if I transgress-
my forehead bowed down,
to thee, however I come of my own accord,
to examine thy wounds.
At the hour of my death let my breath
enter, O Jesus, thy side,
that expiring it may go to thee,
lest the fierce lion invade it,
and may live eternally in thee.
Ad Jesum per Mariam