“The Eve of Saint Agnes”
St. Agnes Eve – Ah, bitter chill it was!
The Owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limped trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the flock in wooly fold;
Numb were the Beadsman’s fingers while he told
His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
Like pious incense from a censer old,
Seemed taking flight for heaven without a death,
Past the sweet Virgin’s picture, while his prayer saith.
John Keats (1795-1821)
The virgin-martyrs, like the one we honor today, has long been the object of our liturgical and poetic devotion. Some of what is passed on to us us pious legend, yet the substance of her life remains crucial to a vigorous Christian life. Agnes was a girl of 13 when she died —giving her life for Jesus Christ during Diocletian’s reign. Forget not that Constantine was soon to legitimatize Christianity making Agnes among the last of the martyrs. You can read up on those women, like Agnes, who are the most eloquent witnesses to Christ in Michael J.K. Fuller’s The Virgin Martyrs: A Hagiographical and Mystagogical Interpretation.
Keats’ poem develops the theme of lovers who are mortal enemies; his is a poem of the romantic genre which ends well. Indeed, in reality it does end well for Agnes: she gives witness to the love she had for her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.