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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
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