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Carl Sandburg (1878–1967).  Chicago Poems.  1916.
 
91. 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—        5
                                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        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.
 
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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