Evening on Journey: And you asked about the significance of ghosts and saints

I gave you the lines of a man dead by twenty five, It went on like "St. Agnes' Eve - Ah, bitter chill it was. The owl for all his feathers was a-cold; the hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass" the lines drip with lust, love, death, visions of saints and virgins falling asleep in hopes to meet their first true love. Drawn to this innocence and a tale as old as time we forget that only animals are truly innocent and the hunters come out at night.