The Silken Tent
She is as in a field a silken tent At midday when a 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 slightest bondage made aware.
-Robert Frost
The Canvas Tent
As twilight approaches
And the summer breeze
Slows to a cool stillness,
Her manner of pliable grace and ease
Indurates to callusness,
Her nature to give and also appease
Hardens to rough dullness,
Her midday silkiness
Once in the breeze
Is cemented now in canvasness.
The supporting central cedar pole
Is grounded by rigid ropes
That seem to be bound by iron spikes
Firmly embedded to Earth's core.
The flickering strings of lights
Are memories of midday's delights,
That randomly dim in presence
To nocturnal evanescence.
-CPW
CPW
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