~ The Silken Tent ~ 

She is 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 one, 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

*

Robert Frost