Ever as she walks she has a sober grace,
Making bold men abashed and good men glad,
If she delight thee not, thy heart must err,
No man dare look on her, his thoughts being base;
Nay, let me say even more than I have said,
No man could think base thoughts who looked on her.

(D.G.  ROSSETTI.)

The same poet in his canzone, Al Cor Gentil says: 

“She shines on us as God shines on His angels.”

When madonna dies the angels receive her, rejoicing that she has joined them.  The Provencal, Pons of Capduelh, anticipated Dante: 

And now we know that the celestial choir
Sings songs of jubilee at her release
From this dull earth; I heard and am at rest;
Who praise His hosts, praise the Eternal Sire. 
I know she is in Heaven with the blest,
’Midst flow’rs whose glory time can never dim
Singing God’s praise, and blest by seraphim. 
Nought but the truth from my glad lips shall fall,
In Heaven she is, enthroned above all.

Folquet of Romans wrote a letter to his beloved, in which he said amongst other things: 

        Kneeling in church before God’s face,
        —­A sinner to beseech His grace,—­
        And for my sins to make amends,—­
        ’Twas you to whom I raised my hands;
        Your loveliness alone was there,
        My soul knew only of one pray’r. 
        I fancied “Our Father” framed
        My trembling lips, when they exclaimed
        Exultant at His sacred shrine: 
        Oh!  Lady!  All my soul is thine!

     Lady, you have bewitched me with your beauty,
     That God I have forgotten and myself.

Cino da Pistoia wrote the following commendatory prayer: 

     Into thy hands, sweet lady of my soul,
     The spirit that is dying I commend;
     And which departs so sorrowful that Love
     Views it with pity, while dismissing it.

     By you to His dominion it was bound,
     So firmly, that it since hath had no power
     To call on Him but thus:  Oh, mighty Lord,
     Whate’er thou wilt of me, Thy will is mine.

(Transl. by C. LYELL.)

Lancelot, one of the great mediaeval lovers, possessed a lock of Guinevere’s hair, which he prized above all the relics of the saints.  When he parted from his mistress (whom he had loved not only spiritually) he fell on his knees before the door of her chamber and prayed as if “he were kneeling before the altar.”

Spiritual love was obviously acquiring a religious tinge.  The mistress took the place of God; her grace was the source of all joy and consolation; she led the souls of the dying to eternal life.  God had yielded His position to her, she had stepped to His side, nay, above Him.  With the curse of the Church still clinging to her, she had been remoulded by man’s emotion into a perfect, a celestial