Brian Faulkner Poet I do not know?

To Follow One's Thought

To follow one's thought in the swallow
When sorrowful leaves hang low;
To scatter delight like the sparrow
And banish all night and woe;
To enter the storms of the winter
And cower back clouds with song;
To flower like spring in her power
When hours of rain seem long;
To walk to a wood that is calling,
To edge through a hedge where it bids,
To push back the leaves of old bushes
And find there a shrine that was hid;
To see through the house of one's being
With eyes that are calm as the moon,
And hear, with no reason of fleeing,
The cheer-colored chime of its tune;
To open the door of one's knowing
And fear not the hero inside;
To flow as a free wind flowing
And never a true thing hide;
To fashion a friendship with gladness,
To sire a love that inspires;
To raise, over rivers of madness,
White wings of unfailing desires;
To stream up the height of one's dreaming
And strain beyond height, beyond star;
To soar out of touch with all seeming
And be all the joy that you are;
To give not a glance to self-pity;
To live, a world-challenger true,
Then stray not a day from this daring---
That flight is the light called you.

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