Here you will find the Poem The Fugitive Ideal of poet William Watson
As some most pure and noble face, Seen in the thronged and hurrying street, Sheds o'er the world a sudden grace, A flying odour sweet, Then, passing, leaves the cheated sense Baulked with a phantom excellence; So, on our soul the visions rise Of that fair life we never led: They flash a splendour past our eyes, We start, and they are fled: They pass, and leave us with blank gaze, Resigned to our ignoble days.
