Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.033 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.

What then is love

by Thomas Ford

−0.0899 − 0.0631i

Drawing the boundary…

Nocturne

by Arthur Symons

−0.0926 − 0.0956i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

What then is love

by Thomas Ford

What then is love, sings Coridon,
Since Phillida is grown so coy?
A flattering glass to gaze upon,
A busy jest, a serious toy;
A flower still budding, never blown,
A scanty dearth in fullest store,
Yielding least fruit where most is sown.
My daily note shall be, therefore:
Heigh ho, heigh ho, chill love no more,
Heigh ho, heigh ho, chill love no more.

’Tis like a morning dewy rose
Spread fairly to the sun’s arise,
But when his beams he doth disclose,
That which then flourished quickly dies.
It is a self-fed, dying hope,
A promised bliss, a salveless sore,
An aimless mark, an erring scope.
My daily note shall be, therefore:
Heigh ho, heigh ho, chill love no more,
Heigh ho, heigh ho, chill love no more.

’Tis like a lamp shining to all,
Whilst in itself it doth decay;
It seems to free whom it doth thrall,
And leads our pathless thoughts astray.
It is the spring of wintered hearts,
Parched by the summer’s heat before;
Faint hope to kindly warmth converts.
My daily note shall be, therefore:
Heigh ho, heigh ho, chill love no more,
Heigh ho, heigh ho, chill love no more.

Nocturne

by Arthur Symons

One little cab to hold us two,
Night, an invisible dome of cloud,
The rattling wheels that made our whispers loud,
As heart-beats into whispers grew;
And, long, the Embankment with its lights,
The pavement glittering with fallen rain,
The magic and the mystery that are night’s,
And human love without the pain.

The river shook with wavering gleams,
Deep buried as the glooms that lay
Impenetrable as the grave of day,
Near and as distant as our dreams.
A bright train flashed with all its squares
Of warm light where the bridge lay mistily.
The night was all about us: we were free,
Free of the day and all its cares!

That was an hour of bliss too long,
Too long to last where joy is brief.
Yet one escape of souls may yield relief
To many weary seasons’ wrong.
“O last for ever!” my heart cried;
It ended: heaven was done.
I had been dreaming by her side
That heaven was but begun.

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