celebration of spring

Here is a poem by e.e. cummings.  I am seeing it with different punctuations; none of them are usual.  I give one version of the poem.



Oh, sweet spontaneous
earth, how often have
the
doting
fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked
thee
,
has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy
beauty . how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and
buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
(but
true
to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover
thou answerest



them only with


spring)



e.e. cummings