by Walt Whitman
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.
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
"A Noiseless Patient Spider" stands out from Whitman's vast body of work due to its short length. His conceit of comparing the soul to a spider is not entirely successful, as spiders, at best, evoke mixed emotions--among them horror--and mixed images--among them poison and death. The conceit of the spider's web is perhaps more successful as a metaphor for the web of connections that the soul must make in order to be complete and whole.
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