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.
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He speaks so much of his soul in his works as if the story itself that he is writing about is secondary.
Though he isn't really making this "story" secondary it does seem that way at times.
A nice piece that Whitman has written here.
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i really dont get this poem? can someone clarify what it is about?
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"O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of
the soul,
O I say now these are the soul!"
--I Sing The Body Electric, Walt Whitman -
I don't think I have had the pleasure of reading a poem so well versed. As I read I am picture each action perfectly. In the truest meaning of the word. Outstanding.
Isz -
I love walt whitman< 3
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Oh
thankyou Suzie for pointing me in this direction
hmm
seems these Americans CAN write some interesting poetry
I like the connection optained from the spiders weaving to the souls leaning
nicely done
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