I marke’d where on a little promontory
it stood isolated,
Marke’d how to explore the vacant vast
surrounding;
It launched forth filament, filament, filament,
out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly seeking the
spheres to
connect then,
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 for formed till the ductile
anchor hold;
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere,
O my soul.
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