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my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height
this motionless forgetful where
turned at his glance to shining here;
that if(so timid air is firm)
under his eyes would stir and squirm
newly as from unburied which
floats the first who,his april touch
drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates
woke dreamers to their ghostly roots
and should some why completely weep
my father's fingers brought her sleep:
vainly no smallest voice might cry
for he could feel the mountains grow
Lifting the valleys of the sea
my father moved through griefs of joy;
praising a forehead called the moon
singing desire into begin
joy was his song and joy so pure
a heart of star by him could steer
and pure so now and now so yes
the wrists of twilight would rejoice
keen as midsummer's keen beyond
conceiving mind of sun will stand
so strictly(over utmost him
so hugely)stood my father's dream
his flesh was flesh his blood was blood:
no hungry man but wished him food;
no cripple wouldn't creep one mile
uphill to only see him smile
Scorning the Pomp of must and shall
my father moved through dooms of feel;
his anger was as right as rain
his pity was as green as grain
Septembering arms of year extend
Yes humbly wealth to foe and friend
Than he to foolish and to wise
Offered immeasurable is
Proudly and(by octobering flame
Beckoned)as earth will downward climb
So naked for immortal work
His shoulders marched against the dark
His sorrow was as true as bread:
No liar looked him in the head;
If every friend became his foe
He'd laugh and build a world with snow
My father moved through theys of we
Singing each new leaf out of each tree
(and every child was sure that spring
Danced when she heard my father sing)
Then let men k** which cannot share
Let blood and flesh be mud and mire
Scheming imagine,pa**ion willed
Freedom a drug that's bought and sold
Giving to steal and cruel kind
A heart to fear,to doubt a mind
To differ a disease of same
Conform the pinnacle of am
Though dull were all we taste as bright
Bitter all utterly things sweet
Maggoty minus and dumb d**h
All we inherit,all bequeath
And nothing quite so least as truth
--i say though hate were why men breathe--
Because my Father lived his soul
Love is the whole and more than all