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 to be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
- A Noiseless Patient Spider: Walt Whitman (1819 - 1892)
This page was last updated on March 13, 2005.