THE FINDER FOUND
WILL you, sometime, who have sought so long and seek
Still in the slowly darkening hunting ground, Catch sight some ordinary month or week
Of that strange quarry you scarcely thought you sought—
Yourself, the gatherer gathered, the finder found,
The buyer, who would buy all, in bounty bought— And perch in pride in the princely hand, at home, And there, the long hunt ended, rest and roam?