The boy accepted them;
His whole childhood in them, his difference
From the others. The wings
Gold,
Gold for credence,
Every feather of them. He believed more in the things
Than I, and less. Familiar as speech,
The family tongue. I remember
New expedients, frauds, ridiculous
In the real withering sun blazing
Still. Who could have said
More, losing the boy anyway, anyway
In the bare field there old man, old potterer ...