A Noiseless Patient Spider
Walt Whitman
A noiseless, patient spider,
I mark'd, where, on a little promontory,
it stood, isolated;
Mark'd how, to explore the vacant,
vast surrounding,
It launch'd forth filament, filament,
filament, out of itself;
Ever unreeling them--ever tirelessly
speeding them.
And you, O my Soul, where you stand,
Surrounded, surrounded, in
measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing,
throwing,--seeking the spheres, to
connect them;
Till the bridge you will need, be
form'd--till the ductile anchor
hold;
Till the gossamer thread you fling,
catch somewhere, O my Soul.
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