THE SILKEN TENT
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 slightlest bondage made aware.
Also too, Spock, in both universes, is 81 today. Holyfuck you're old.
I didn't feel like rolling on tacks then jumping into a vat of vinegar last night and I still don't today, so no links today though have this and this and this and this and
