To a Passerby

In the medley of rush and noise,
As I wander through streets filled with the weary,
You passed, a fleeting vision,
Wrapped in the wildness of an autumn breeze.

Ah! what was that odor, sacred and sweet,
Of flowers that lie in the paths of summer?
Oh! your glance—I tasted the bittersweet—informed
With ephemeral beauty and a cloud of aroma.

And in passing, you became but a wraith,
A moment drawn into an infinite distance,
Yet I swear, I shall remember your face
As a fading star in the twilight of remembrance.

• Charles Baudelaire