She is as in a field of silken
At midday when the sunny summer
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
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strictly held by none, is loosely
By countless silken ties of love and
To every thing on earth the compass round,
And only by one's going slightly
In the capriciousness of summer
Is of the slightlest bondage made aware.
