My favorite metaphor

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 everything 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 Silken Tent************

Note that the whole sonnet is a single simile describing a woman. Now that is craft. I read this poem, and I really want to meet this woman, full of delightful complexity, grounded, and yet whimsical. Of course, that's just another way of saying that I wish I could meet Frost, who, more than any other poet I really love, combines the grave and the whimsical with impossible dexterity.

Earlier today, I had the crazy urge to neglect my studying and write some poetry myself. Truthfully, I have the crazy urge to do anything but study, crazy because I have two finals this weekend, one Saturday and one Sunday. Nevertheless, if I put pen to paper and I am not ashamed of the result, I might post it here.