Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Second Book of Modern Verse. 1922.

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 wrack 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.