“No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! Porphryo will leave me here to fade and pine.- Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring? I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, Though thou forsakest a decieved thing;- A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing.”
Tomorrow is the feast of St. Agnes, meaning that tonight, according to superstition, if a woman performed certain rituals before going to bed, she would dream of her future husband. It was largely popularized by one of John Keats’ most famous poems, The Eve of St. Agnes. If you’re into a little medieval high romance and some light Catholic mysticism like the Victorians were, this is the night for you.