EXPERIENCE, like a pale musician, holds <br />A dulcimer of patience in his hand, <br />Whence harmonies, we cannot understand, <br />Of God; will in his worlds, the strain unfolds <br />In sad-perplexed minors: deathly colds <br />Fall on us while we hear, and countermand <br />Our sanguine heart back from the fancyland <br />With nightingales in visionary wolds. <br />We murmur ' Where is any certain tune <br />Or measured music in such notes as these ? ' <br />But angels, leaning from the golden seat, <br />Are not so minded their fine ear hath won <br />The issue of completed cadences, <br />And, smiling down the stars, they whisper-- <br /> SWEET.<br /><br />Elizabeth Barrett Browning<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/perplexed-music/
