The following is the manuscript version of "A Noiseless, Patient Spider." Find the published version here.

The Soul, reaching, throwing out for love,

As the spider, from some little promontory, throwing out filament after filament, tirelessly out of itself, that one at least may catch and form a link, a bridge, a  connection

O I saw one passing along, saying hardly a word — yet full of love I detected him, by certain signs

O eyes wishfully turning! O silent eyes!

For then I thought of you o'er the world,

O latent oceans, fathomless oceans of love!

O waiting oceans of love! yearning and fervid! and of you sweet souls perhaps in the future, delicious and long:

But Death, unknown on the earth — ungiven, dark here, unspoken, never born:

You fathomless latent souls of love — you pent and unknown oceans of love!