A good feast of St. Agnes to you.
I love the melancholy strain,
amidst the sunlight falling rain,
the fair remembrance of the slain,
and hope against all hope.
I love the darkness of the cloud;
its rumbling thunder mocks the proud,
it graces earth with tear and shroud,
reminds us of our place.
On roads of dreams we journey long,
with many missteps, choices wrong,
and failures; yet -- the joy of song
is fairer for it all.
As when, at night, some quiet star
looks down on where the dark things are,
and yet its light they cannot mar --
let you and I thus shine.
A Poem of St. Agnes
The little lambs on heaven's field
remind me of a girl who fought
against the darkness, for the fair,
whose heart was free from trembling fear,
who did not falter, did not fail,
but held her ground against the foe.
"I faithful stay to Spouse and Friend,
my Jesus; I am truly free
with him," she said, her voice not faint.
And then she bent her head, with faith
exposed her neck. The death-stroke fell.