Was something brushed across my mind that no one on earth will ever find?

I spent the last while writing the poem of the previous post. Then, right after pushing the orange publish button I checked my email and discovered the following. Also relevant is this attempt at addressing Frost's ability to be simply brilliant.

A Passing Glimpse
By Robert Frost

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To Ridgely Torrence
On Last Looking into His 'Hesperides'

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I often see flowers from a passing car
That are gone before I can tell what they are.

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I want to get out of the train and go back
To see what they were beside the track.

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I name all the flowers I am sure they weren't;
Not fireweed loving where woods have burnt--

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Not bluebells gracing a tunnel mouth--
Not lupine living on sand and drouth.

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Was something brushed across my mind
That no one on earth will ever find?

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Heaven gives it glimpses only to those
Not in position to look too close.