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Life: Youth and Old Age




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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