On this 26th day of May 1805, with much more than affection this small gift for a Glorious Knight;
The Right Honorable Viscount William F. Willoughby Lindesay,
Pray forgive the informality!
I know you will instantly see,
an infinitely better poet than me.
But reckoning this suitable and right,
You, my Angel and Golden Knight,
Sir, I truly do adore you!
Doing my utmost to be an angel too,
Only a Lady bold… but to have and hold,
I am soothing tears in the rain,
Warmth embracing you… All your pain…
Today my gift for you… is a pink Rose Moss,
With hope there will be an Us.
Virgil’s “Golden Bough,” mistletoe and true,
And proper to kiss you,
On Christmas Day… and to say,
My Darling Willoughby, if I may…
Do close your eyes without delay!
Oh, dear… Your kiss already there…
On warm, soft wings in the air!
Seeing you as Romeo Montague,
I wished I was Juliet too!
Never only sad dreams to be had…
Do you see blue Harebells and wonder… Why?
Always fancying flying high in the sky…?
Harebells are hope, you see,
That someday you, Sir… will marry me…
Right here in Canterbury.
The Rose is Love for England eternally,
And to you from me as I intended it to be!
Tudor, both white and red it must be said,
Together! Forever Unity!
Warm enthusiasm it can even be…
But now everything bold mentioned above,
Must still be innocent and spiritual
But, Sir… never amiss,
Forthright, I seal this poem with a Kiss.
Sir Knight, True Love is a
Rose and me.
My heart will wait for you, dear Willoughby!
matter how long it will take,
With half of yours it can Never break.
Another gift for you… a golden lock of my hair,
For me, a strand of yours… left on this chair?
With You I shall soar forever more,
“Yours till the end of time and eternally,
For You are my true Golden Knight,” dared she,
"Sir, a Celestial Prince… A Cavalier for me!
My Beloved William of Willowbee…”
With Eternal Love,
R. A. F.
Sub rosa... temet nosce - ubi ju ibi
remedium - ubi revera
totus tuus - rosa
"Look Rob! Latin! This is..."
"From a highly educated goddamn blue stocking! Aye! What does it say...?"
"Let me see... Hmmm... Well... 'In secret... know thyself - where there is a right,
there is a remedy... "
"Remedy? Ye're not good enough, eh wot?"
this is about time... getting older... learning... here's the sweet rest and certainly good enough! She says: 'A true thing - totally yours - Rosa.' That is... Ohhhh...!"
"Holy bedongles, Will! But why in Latin, man? What kind of lady is this... a scolar? A female with a bloody brain... And who t' hell gives a rat's arse if ladies know Latin or which day of t' week it is..."
"I do, and somehow she knows that... My Lady! Intellect, knowledge and wit as well as charm and beauty are important. Interesting conversation and romance... "
"Why, you demanding bastard! Romance and shit for brains! Who t' devil needs to talk... as long as there's a damn good... delicious 'apple dumpling shop' up front and a sweet... you know... 'down under'... and not a bloody bushman..."
Rob was not talking
about Australia... No. After visiting 'Lizzie's Lovely Ladies,' He is still all fired up after enjoying what many called 'criminal conversation'... and I 'great enthusiasm,' both of us with two 'fallen women'... me... not exctly for the first time...
and delicious 'jam tarts' we shared... the visit a must at our age... and more so, for the mysterious 'Sweeter Gender' was already profoundly 'studied' by me... whenever possible, for an excellent reason...
"Hush, Rob! Be quiet...!"
Even though sitting tight and waiting... all of a sudden not only the dark hairstrand was gone. How? Finally asking everyone, nobody had seen anyone except for lots of younger schoolboys near my former chair and certainly
not a young, beautiful lady taking the long, dark strand of hair my best friend Rob quickly cut it off with his Scottish dirk as I hastily scribbled a few words on a small piece of paper after finding a bit of red ink... Yesss! Red... more or less...
MY LADY ROSE
My Lady, my Rose you came,
Angel, now I know your name!
Rose... Rose! My Rose!
Heavenly name... Glorious poetry and prose!
My Love. my Life,
My beloved Lady and even Wife.
Never amiss, for your golden hair a kiss,
That shall last
forever and a day!
Do never again go away!
"Figure she'll fancy it? The heart... Should have written something better... there was no time... She's my Sweet Angel, Rob! The
"How the hell do you know...?"
"I just do."
Oh, yesss... I do, for I still have... rather frightening 'Enlightening Moments' of long ago... and more... but
Rob strangely understands.
"Holy bedongles, Willoughby! Struck by goddamn lightening! Aye! Wonky as a gelatin puddin'! Romantic shit...
Ye're still shakin'... A pint'll get all t' goddamn romance crap outta ye, man!"
"She clearly knows me! She's my Sweet Beautiful
"Aye... Eh wot? Well... Blondes, brunettes, redheads... Damn fine 'apple dumpling shops' come in all colors...
with a cherry on top, man! That's what ye said a week ago! Aye!"
"Someone must have seen her... R... Rose... Oh, yesss... A.F....? Hmmm...Who
can she be?"
"How t' hell should I know? Holy bedongles! Wait a few days an' we can light t' fireplace with all t' love notes ye gonna
"Rose... my Sweet Rosie!"
"La... Just get ready fer t'Heavy Cavalry, Willoughby! We'll be extra large lads on huge war horses... Every goddamn thing we've got is extra large, man! Hold on t' yer drawers, Ladies... an' drown us in kisses! T'Heavy Cavalry's coming!
A token of love and male and females still fancying rather long locks, hair from
a loved one was often used not only for 'mourning chains' if a loved one died, but cherished in several ways. If worn due to loss of dear one, the hair was made into sad ornaments women wore, often prefered with an attched,
engraved silver or gold heart or a miniature painting of the deseased. In 1805 there was indeed a war going on between Britain and France.
Not only all sorsts of people and especially children under 5 died of an assortment of diseases... "the fevers"... consumption, typhoid fever... "stomack" ailments, etc... there were no remedies for.
Several gentlemen fancied gold blond female hair made into a 'golden chain' for a pocket watch or a fob... honoring a wife or a dearly beloved woman... or mistress... loveless marriages
frequent and merely just a profitable business deal... (Even so, especially 'mourning hair chains' made of dark hair became infinitely popular in Victorian times... with so many obsessed by death.)
Copyright©2013 Kari M. Knutsen