A NOISELESS PATIENT SPIDERBy Walt WhitmanA 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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