So it turns out my favourite poem of 1986 is rather beautiful but quite problematic! Agnes herself came from a wealthy Roman family and, when she refused to marry any of her many suitors (girls can be so picky!) she was killed, oops, I mean martyred. She was 12 years old. She became the patron saint of virgins and sometime later it became a thing to try to dream of your future husband by following special rituals on on the Eve of St. Agnes, January 20th. I did give this a go back in the day but I don’t think I ever managed to go to bed without eating...