Love; place; childhood. But that play on chords of words,

That shaping of leafmass in wind, that gathering thought,

That slow many-minded tower up which a lecturer climbs,

Making words mean to his listeners what words ought,

And sure in his own seeking memory build, build, and be.

He shakes the large pattern like a flag in upper light.

First the parts show - stars in a barred field; diagonal

Blue; gold shield; - then the thought blows whole and bright,

And a kind of cheering comes in the intent eyes all toward

Him as he goes on ahead, and in his heart a kind of power.

A word seeded Words were the green stalk his roots reached

Down for, up branch to leaf, and now this bannering flower,

This truth, this tower, a tree the liveliest boy climbs into

And from high bent hard-blown branches, with a great shout

Claims a new country beyond the hill. And all clamber down

Clumsily, brush themselves and wonder at him and walk about.

They wander off. He grinds the gravel. Now he is alone.

He never knew all that furthest country over the border,

Where are they now, how do they think about geography,

Grounded, and trying to set their minds and his in order?