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The classic poem for this issue of The Fairfield Review features a piece written by Walt Whitman. It speaks to us of the poet's cast across a sea of spaces, a tomorrow at the edge of a threshold --egh
A Noiseless Patient Spider
By Walt Whitman
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 to be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
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Document last modified on: 09/05/1999