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
His father seems to have a distaste for tradition, or the mainstream–quite strongly, as this is the first incident of two capitalized words in a single line, and the second and third capital letter of this whole poem so far (the first one is found  three stanzas before ). 
 As a result, we may read this as “ Scorning  the  Pomps ”–“pomps” being a traditional and splendid ceremony; in this case, a ceremony of social norms (“must"s and "shall"s)
My father moved through dooms of love