my father moved through dooms of love

by E. E. Cummings

    my father moved through dooms¹ 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 swarm² 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 steer³

    and pure so now and now so yes

    the wrists of twilight⁴ 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 humbly⁵ wealth to foe⁶ 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 immortal⁷ work

    his shoulders marched against the dark

    his sorrow was as true as bread：

    no liar⁸ 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 kill which cannot share，

    let blood and flesh be mud and mire，

    scheming imagine，passion 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 death

    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