I am pleased when I see mathematics held up as an ideal -- and such was the case when I opened my June 19, 2017 issue of The New Yorker and found the lovely poem, "How to Build a Stradivarius" by Ilyse Kusnetz (1966 -2016). Here are its closing lines:
. . .
The truth could be found in the song itself—
how it was impossible to tell where
the wood ceased and the song began—notes pure
as a mathematical equation. Transposing mountain.
Valley. Mountain again.
The complete poem is available here.