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, 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