Nov

19

As in Walt Whitman's "A Noiseless Patient Spider," we traders launch our filaments, tirelessly trying to figure things out..

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, I, my soul.


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1 Comment so far

  1. AlfaMike on November 19, 2007 5:20 pm

    Nice selection.

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