Now in a thought, now in a shadowed word, <br />Now in a voice that thrills eternity, <br />Ever there comes an onward phrase to me <br />Of some transcendent music I have heard; <br />No piteous thing by soft hands dulcimered, <br />No trumpet crash of blood-sick victory, <br />But a glad strain of some vast harmony <br />That no brief mortal touch has ever stirred. <br />There is no music in the world like this, <br />No character wherewith to set it down, <br />No kind of instrument to make it sing. <br />No kind of instrument? Ah, yes, there is; <br />And after time and place are overthrown, <br />God’s touch will keep its one chord quivering.<br /><br />Edwin Arlington Robinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/l-envoy/
