We have to admit that we're kind of on the fence when it comes to the speaker of "The Canonization." In the beginning of the poem, we're sympathetic to him. After all, when someone says "For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love," we're inclined to defend him (1). What kind of jerk wants to stop someone from being in love, anyway?
But then the speaker goes on to describe his love. He lets us know, in no uncertain terms, that his experience with his lover is unique, mysterious, transcendent—in other words, more special than the sort of love the rest of us experience. Heck, he even imagines that he and his lover will be sainted for being so good at loving one another. And when they are, we'll all look up to them and ask them for love advice. Sheesh—arrogant much? By this point, we're starting to sympathize with the unnamed person whom the speaker is addressing. If someone is so wrapped up in their relationship that they think they'll be sainted for it, we can see how that would be irritating.
And yet, when you leave aside all of the religious particulars, isn't a saint just someone who loves really well, whether that's loving God or humanity? Why should romantic love be excluded from the equation? By posing those kind of radical and provocative questions (see "What's Up With the Title?" for more on them), we think that the speaker is kind of admirable. He's standing up for love, saying that it's worthy of our highest forms of respect. For that reason, we have to give him his props—even if he is a bit annoying.