The Man with the Blue Guitar

I Everything is a matter of degree. This blue guitar, of bronze, Plays slowly a note in vain And the unaccustomed sky.

II Forget not with night’s shadows, The day, the moments rise, A light with sound that gardens scream To enter into this truth in vain.

III For sound is not of silver alone, It is as high as we think, And the heart; we must enter the trees In order. Make a second round.

• Wallace Stevens