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Dante Gabriel Rossetti - The Church-Porch
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I 
(To M.F.R.) 
       SISTER, first shake we off the dust we have 
            Upon our feet, lest it defile the stones 
            Inscriptured, covering their sacred bones 
       Who lie i` the aisles which keep the names they gave, 
       Their trust abiding round them in the grave; 
            Whom painters paint for visible orisons, 
            And to whom sculptors pray in stone and bronze; 
       Their voices echo still like a spent wave. 
       Without here, the church-bells are but a tune, 
   And on the carven church-door this hot noon 
            Lays all its heavy sunshine here without: 
       But having entered in, we shall find there 
       Silence, and sudden dimness, and deep prayer, 
            And faces of crowned angels all about. 
II 
(To C.G.R.) 

       SISTER, arise: We have no more to sing 
            Or say. The priest abideth as is meet 
            To minister. Rise up out of thy seat, 
       Though peradventure `tis an irksome thing 
       To cross again the threshold of our King 
            Where His doors stand against the evil street, 
            And let each step increase upon our feet 
       The dust we shook from them at entering. 
       Must we of very sooth go home? The air, 
        Whose heat outside makes mist that can be seen, 
            Is very clear and cool where we have been. 
                The priest abideth ministering. Lo! 
       As he for service, why not we for prayer? 
                It is so bidden, sister, let us go.
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