Hunters, where does Hope nest? <br />Not in the half-oped breast, <br />Nor the young rose, <br />Nor April sunrise—those <br />With a quick wing she brushes, <br />The wide world through, <br />Greets with the throat of thrushes, <br />Fades from as fast as dew. <br /> <br />But, would you spy her sleeping, <br />Cradled warm, <br />Look in the breast of weeping, <br />The tree stript by storm; <br />But, would you bind her fast, <br />Yours at last, <br />Bed-mate and lover, <br />Gain the last headland bare <br />That the cold tides cover, <br />There may you capture her, there, <br />Where the sea gives to the ground <br />Only the drift of the drowned. <br />Yet, if she slips you, once found, <br />Push to her uttermost lair <br />In the low house of despair. <br />There will she watch by your head, <br />Sing to you till you be dead, <br />Then, with your child in her breast, <br />In another heart build a new nest.<br /><br />Edith Wharton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-hunting-song-2/
