and wondrously adorned;
And all she does is well; arrayed
In noble love and gentleness.
Her smile is bliss to all who mourn,
Her tender love is happiness,
And for her kiss the world I scorn.
Lady of Heaven, Thy heart incline
To me, and untold bliss is mine.
By day and night my only thought
Art, Mary, Thou. I am distraught
Say many men, for few can gauge
The ardour which consumes my soul.
I care not that they say bereft
I am of sense; the world I've left,
To worship Thee, love's spring and goal.

But other poems written by Cigala are unmistakably addressed to the
celestial Madonna; some of them seem to be written in a penitential
mood; he almost seems to repent of his former passionate adoration. The
same poet, in his love-songs, uses all the metaphors which are commonly
used for Mary (or for Christ), "root and climax, flower, fruit and seed
of all goodness."

A little older is an erotic hymn to Mary by Peire Guillem of Luserna; I
quote a few stanzas:

Thy praise is happiness unmarred,
For he who praises Thee, proclaims the truth,
Thou art the flower of beauty, love and ruth,
Full of compassion, with all grace bedight,
From Thy white hands we gather all delight.

The love of Mary had usurped the peculiar property of the love of woman:
it had become the source of poetic and artistic inspiration.

The songs of Aimeric of Peguilhan resemble those of Cigala; the former
bewails the decline of the service of woman; he sings of the "root and
crown of all noble things," but it is not quite clear whether he is
addressing an earthly or a heavenly lady. "Suffer my love, which asks
for no reward!" The terms, "friends" and "lovers" (_amans_) of the
Virgin are with these poets convertible terms, and the Virgin is styled
"the true friend" (_i.e._, the beloved).

Guilhem of Autpol wrote a fine poem to the Queen of Heaven, beginning:

Thou hope of all sad hearts who yearn for love,
Thou stream of loveliness, thou well of grace,
Thou dove of peace in fret and restlessness,
Thou ray of light to those who, lightless, grope.
Thou house of God, thou garden of sweet shades,
Rest without ceasing, refuge of the sad,
Bliss without mourning, flow'r that never fades,
Alien to death, and shelter in the mad
Whirlpool of life, to all who seek thy port.
Lady of Heaven, in whom all hearts rejo