A Passing Glimpse
by Robert Frost
To Ridgely Torrence
On Last Looking into His 'Hesperides'
I often see flowers from a passing
car
That are gone before I can tell what
they are.
I want to get out of the train and go
back
To see what they were beside the
track.
I name all the flowers I am sure they
weren't;
Not fireweed loving where woods have
burnt--
Not bluebells gracing a tunnel
mouth--
Not lupine living on sand and drouth.
Was something brushed across my mind
That no one on earth will ever find?
Heaven gives its glimpses only to
those
Not in position to look too close.
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