The Great Hunt

I cannot tell you now;
     When the wind’s drive and whirl
     Blow me along no longer,
     And the wind’s a whisper at last—
 Maybe I’ll tell you then—
                                 some other time.

     When the rose’s flash to the sunset
     Reels to the rack and the twist,
     And the rose is a red bygone,
     When the face I love is going
     And the gate to the end shall clang,
     And it’s no use to beckon or say, “So long”—
 Maybe I’ll tell you then—
                                 some other time.

 I never knew any more beautiful than you:
     I have hunted you under my thoughts,
     I have broken down under the wind
     And into the roses looking for you.
       I shall never find any
                                 greater than you.
The Great Hunt

by Carl Sandburg, 1916
