What is the Pre-Raphaelite, this truth to nature? It's the wisdom of the eye in the sense of a Ficino. It's the hand moved by love so that it delineates a Botticelli Venus. It's a Renaissance of a PlatonicEros, Beauty as psychopomp, the drinking the cup of Mnemosyne, the act of choosing, shaping, in accord with true being. It's a Medici breathing Prima Vera that never forgets that true life is the truest worship and truest praise.

Above all, it is  Dante Gabriel Rossetti...

But don't go looking for this in books, the tomes of scholarly towers. Find it for yourself, embedded in his art.

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 SAINT AGNES of INTERCESSION...

One of Rossetti's rare prose works, St. Agnes of Intercession was begun in 1850 when he was in his early twenties. The version below (published posthumously in 1911) was left unfinished, as was an earlier version.

  An interesting note on the possible themes and direction the story might have taken can be extrapolated from the original title of the unpublished version ("The St. Agnes at Perugia. An Autopsychology") and the use of an alternative 'motto' from Shelley's Prometheus Unbound:

Ere it shall be told. Ere Babylon was dust,
the Magus Zoroaster, my dead child,
Met his own image
Walking in the garden.
That apparition, sole of men, he saw.

  to text:

SAINT AGNES of INTERCESSION

&

Hand and Soul

William Sharp, aka Fiona Macleod, mother of the Celtic Revival, writes in his bio of Rossetti:

...To this point in Hand and Soul I have kept close to the narrative itself and have dealt with it in extenso, both because of its beauty as a creation by the subject of this record and because of its thorough individuality; but I wall now quote at length the important passages that follow, valuable not only for their inherent significance but also because of their specifically affecting the personality of Rossetti himself. In fact, these passages may be regarded as directly personal utterances applicable to himself as an artist, and this I know from his own lips as well as from every natural evidence; so that I have no hesitation in transcribing what amounts to an artistic confessio fideli, to Rossetti's own convictions as to how an artist should work with both "hand and soul" towards the accomplishment of every conception. Their applicability to all imaginatively and emotionally creative work will be manifest to many, and the central idea is certainly that which it would be well if most persons besides those who "create" would take to heart -- that true life is the truest worship and truest praise, "for with God is no lust of godhead."

.... But when he looked in her eyes, he wept. And she came to him, and cast her hair over him, and, took her hands about his forehead, and spoke again:

“Thou hast said,“ she continued, gently, “that faith failed thee. This cannot be so. Either thou hadst it not, or thou hast it. But who bade thee strike the point betwixt love and faith? Wouldst thou sift the warm breeze from the sun that quickens it? Who bade thee turn upon God and say: “Behold, my offering is of earth, and not worthy: thy fire comes not upon it: therefore, though I slay not my brother whom thou acceptest, I will depart before thou smite me.” Why shouldst thou rise up and tell God He is not content? Had He, of His warrant, certified so to thee? Be not nice to seek out division; but possess thy love in sufficiency: assuredly this is faith, for the heart must believe first. What He hath set in thine heart to do, that do thou; and even though thou do it {31}" without thought of Him, it shall be well done: it is this sacrifice that He asketh of thee, and His flame is upon it for a sign. Think not of Him; but of His love and thy love. For God is no morbid exactor: He hath no hand to bow beneath, nor a foot, that thou shouldst kiss it.”

And Chiaro held silence, and wept into her hair which covered his face; and the salt tears that he shed ran through her hair upon his lips; and he tasted the bitterness of shame.

Then the fair woman, that was his soul, spoke again to him, saying:

“And for this thy last purpose, and for those unprofitable truths of thy teaching,—thine heart hath already put them away, and it needs not that I lay my bidding upon thee. How is it that thou, a man, wouldst say coldly to the mind what God hath said to the heart warmly? Thy will was honest and wholesome; but look well lest this also be folly,—to say, ‘I, in doing this, do strengthen God among men.’ When at any time hath he cried unto thee, saying, ‘My son, lend me thy shoulder, for I fall?’ Deemest thou that the men who enter God’s temple in malice, to the provoking of blood, and neither for his love nor for his wrath will abate their purpose,—shall afterwards stand with thee in the porch, midway between Him and themselves, to give ear unto thy thin voice, which merely the fall of their visors can drown, and to see thy hands, stretched feebly, tremble among their swords? Give thou to God no more than he asketh of thee; but to man also, that which is man’s. In all that thou doest, work from thine own heart, simply; for his heart is as thine, when thine is wise and humble; and he shall have understanding of thee. One drop of rain is as another, and the sun’s prism in all: and shalt not thou be as he, whose lives are the breath of One? Only by making thyself his equal can he learn to hold communion with thee, and at last own thee above him. Not till thou lean over the water shalt thou see thine image therein: stand erect, and it shall slope from thy feet and be lost. Know that there is but this means whereby thou may’st serve God with man:—Set thine hand and thy soul to serve man with God.”

And when she that spoke had said these words within Chiaro’s spirit, she left his side quietly, and stood up as he had first seen her; with her fingers laid together, and her eyes steadfast, and with the breadth of her long dress covering her feet on the floor. And, speaking again, she said:

“Chiaro, servant of God, take now thine Art unto thee, and paint me thus, as I am, to know me: weak, as I am, and in the weeds of this time; only with eyes which seek out labour, and with a faith, not learned, yet jealous of prayer. Do this; so shall thy soul stand before thee always, and perplex thee no more.”

And Chiaro did as she bade him. While he worked, his face grew solemn with knowledge: and before the shadows had turned, his work was done. Having finished, he lay back where he sat, and was asleep immediately: for the growth of that strong sunset was heavy about him, and he felt weak and haggard; like one just come out of a dusk, hollow country, bewildered with echoes, where he had lost himself, and who has not slept for many days and nights. And when she saw him lie back, the beautiful woman came to him, and sat at his head, gazing, and quieted his sleep with her voice.

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When I am in my heart and you are in your heart, there is no distance between us.