34my father moved through dooms1 of lovethrough sames of am through haves of give,singing each morning out of each nightmy father moved through depths of heightthis motionless forgetful where turned at his glance to shining here; that if(so timid air is firm) under his eyes would stir and squirmnewly as from unburied which floats the first who,his april touch drove sleeping selves to swarm2 their fates woke dreamers to their ghostly rootsand 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 beginjoy 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 rejoicekeen as mi
