It's The Light Of The Oncoming Train.

Wallowing In This Bloody Sty, I Cast For Fish That Pleased My Eye

The Scythers, Time And Death, Helmed Locusts, Move Upon The Tree Of Breath

Most Poetry Is Very Formal, But When A Modern Poet Is Formal He Gets More Attention For It Than Old Poets Did.

What Can The Dove Of Jesus Give You Now But Wisdom, Exile? Stand And Live, The Dove Has Brought An Olive Branch To Eat.

Once Fishing Was A Rabbit's Foot-- O Wind Blow Cold, O Wind Blow Hot