That no one ever knew to love like thee.
This surely is the “intelletto d'amore” of Dante himself.
Hardly less like Dante is the picture of Beatrice in that half-playful, half-worshipful poem on that mysterious personage [XXXV]:
Like our Lady from heaven
She passes before me,
An angel in seeming, and yet all so ardent
My mind stopped thinking
But to look at her,
And the soul was at rest,—but for sighing!
How sweet and true an echo from Sonnet XXV in La Vita Nova: