One of those forms which flit by us, when we

Are young, and fix our eyes on every face;

And, oh! the Loveliness at times we see

In momentary gliding, the soft grace,

The Youth, the Bloom, the Beauty which agree,

In many a nameless being we retrace,

Whose course and home we knew not, nor shall know,

Like the lost Pleiad[202] seen no more below.