| Carl Sandburg (1878–1967). Chicago Poems. 1916. |
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| 91. The Great Hunt |
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| 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— | 5 |
| some other time. | |
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| 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 | 10 |
| 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. | |
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| I never knew any more beautiful than you: | 15 |
| 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. | 20 |
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