The Great Hunt

I can not 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.