Walt Whitman (Уолт Уитмен)

Leaves of Grass. 30. Whispers of Heavenly Death. 11. A Noiseless Patient Spider

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.

1. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 13. Bravo, Paris Exposition!
2. Leaves of Grass. 20. By the Roadside. 24. Hast Never Come to Thee an Hour
3. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 5. A Carol Closing Sixty-Nine
4. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 8. An Ended Day
5. Leaves of Grass. 17. Birds of Passage. 5. Myself and Mine

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1922

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