Robert Frost

poems:

15

the silken tent

She is as in a field of silken tent at midday when the sunny summer breeze has dried the dew and all its ropes relent, so that in guys it gently sways at ease, and its supporting central cedar pole, that is its pinnacle to heavenward and signifies the sureness of the soul, seems to owe naught to any single cord, but strictly held by none, is loosely bound by countless silken ties of love and thought to every thing on earth the compass round, and only by one's going slightly taut in the capriciousness of summer air is of the slightlest bondage made aware.

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