Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.058 apart. A smaller distance means the lines are built more alike.

This number is read from the build of the lines. The bright edge is that number, carried outward until the pattern repeats.

Fancy, Farewell

by Sir Edward Dyer

0.2555 + 0.2382i

Drawing the boundary…

A Death Song

by William Morris

0.1971 + 0.2392i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.

Fancy, Farewell

by Sir Edward Dyer

Fancy, farewell, that fed my fond delight;
Delight, adieu, the cause of my distress;
Distress, adieu, that dost me such despite;
Despite, adieu, for death doth lend redress.
And death, adieu, for though I thus be slain,
In thy despite I hope to live again.

Sweet heart, farewell, whose love hath wrought my woe;
And farewell, woe, that wearied hast my wits;
And farewell, wit, which will bewitchëd so;
And farewell, will, O full of frantic fits.
Franzy, farewell, whose force I feel too sore,
And farewell, feeling, for I feel no more.

And life, adieu, that I have lived and loathed,
And farewell, love, that makest me loathe my life;
Both love and life, farewell unto you both;
Twixt hope and dread, farewell, all foolish strife.
Folly, farewell, which I have fancied so,
And farewell, fancy, that first wrought my woe.

A Death Song

by William Morris

What cometh here from west to east awending?
And who are these, the marchers stern and slow?
We bear the message that the rich are sending
Aback to those who bade them wake and know.
Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day.

We ask them for a life of toilsome earning,
They bade us bide their leisure for our bread;
We crave to speak to tell our woeful learning:
We come back speechless, bearing back our dead.
Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day.

They will not learn; they have no ears to hearken.
They turn their faces from the eyes of fate;
Their gay-lit halls shut out the skies that darken.
But, lo! this dead man knocking at the gate.
Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day.

Here lies the sign that we shall break our prison;
Amidst the storm he won a prisoner's rest;
But in the cloudy dawn the sun arisen
Brings us our day of work to win the best.
Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day.

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