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, detached, 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.
// ---Walt Whitman
