Artistic Balance

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THE SILKEN TENT

 by Robert Frost

 She is as in a field a 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 slightest bondage made aware

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