She was a miracle of perfection while she was yet on earth, but now:
Look thou into the pleasure wherein dwells
Thy lovely lady, who is in heaven crowned,
Who is herself thy hope in heaven, the while
To make thy mem'ry hallowed she prevails.
Of thee she entertains the blessed throngs,
And says to them, while yet my body thrave
On earth, I gat much honour which he gave,
Commending me in his commended songs.
(_Transl. by_ D.G. ROSSETTI.)
At the conclusion of his finest poem, "Al Cor Gentil," Guinicelli, next
to Dante doubtless the greatest poet of the Middle Ages, says: "God will
ask me after my death: 'How could'st thou have loved aught but Me?' And
I will reply: 'She came from Thy realm and bore the semblance of an
angel. Therefore in loving her, I was not unfaithful to Thee!'" Here we
have the perfection of metaphysical eroticism: the beloved woman is God;
he who loves her, loves God in her.
Cavalcanti maintained in a poem that an image of the Madonna actually
bore the features of his lady.
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