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. 5

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. 10