In Fields of Sleepdreaming

The pack of wild colts went smoking by,
muzzles ferocious, hides hirsute,
manes swept out stiff, bold, like thick staves;
they came through as the fierce North Winds do;

Then they were eagles of varied and somber plumage
bringing grand visions from their peaks;
in the serene flight of their august inspiration,
in the pride of Olympian lineage

they crossed eastward through the translucid
sky; behind them, like a candid host
rising in flight, a dove white as the snow appears.

I can forget the great, egregious bird and the fiery brute
when I think that in the solemn skies of Ideas
what is sometimes lovely, very lovely, is a dove.