A Noiseless Patient Spider. by Walt Whitman
A NOISELESS, patient spider,
I markâ€™d, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated;
Markâ€™d how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,
It launchâ€™d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself;
Ever unreeling themâ€”ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you, O my Soul, where you stand,
Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing,â€”seeking the spheres, to connect them;
Till the bridge you will need, be formâ€™dâ€”till the ductile anchor hold;
Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul.