Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.066 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.

Farewell, dear love

by Robert Jones

0.6921 + 0.0554i

Drawing the boundary…

The Sleeper in the Valley

by Arthur Rimbaud

0.6270 + 0.0667i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Farewell, dear love

by Robert Jones

Farewell, dear love, since thou wilt needs be gone
Mine eyes do show my life is almost gone
Nay, I will never die so long as I can spy.
There be many more though that she do go,
There be many more I fear not,
Why then let her go, I care not.

Farewell, farewell, since this I find is true
I will not spend more time in wooing you.
But I will seek elsewhere if I may find love there
Shall I bid her go? What and if I do?
Shall I bid her go and spare not?
Oh no no no, I dare not.

Ten thousand times farewell; yet stay awhile
Sweet, kiss me once; sweet kisses time beguile.
I have no pow'r  to move. How now am I in love?
Wilt thou needs begone? Go then, all is one
Wilt thou needs begone? Oh hie thee!
Nay, stay, and do no more deny me.

Once more adieu, I see loath to depart
Bids oft adieu to her that holds my heart.
But seeing I must lose thy love, which I did choose,
Go thy way for me since that may not be.
Go, thy ways for me. But whither?
Go, of but where I may come thither.

What shall I do? My love is now departed
She is as fair as she is cruel-hearted.
But seeing I must lose thy love with prayers oft repeated
If she come no more, shall I die therefore?
If she come no more, what care I?
Faith, let her go, or come, or tarry!

The Sleeper in the Valley

by Arthur Rimbaud

Le Dormeur du Val

C'est un trou de verdure où chante une rivière,
Accrochant follement aux herbes des haillons
D'argent; où le soleil, de la montagne fière,
Luit: c'est un petit val qui mousse de rayons.

Un soldat jeune, bouche ouverte, tête nue,
Et la nuque baignant dans le frais cresson bleu,
Dort; il est étendu dans l'herbe, sous la nue,
Pâle dans son lit vert où la lumière pleut.

Les pieds dans les glaïeuls, il dort. Souriant comme
Sourirait un enfant malade, il fait un somme:
Nature, berce-le chaudement: il a froid.

Les parfums ne font pas frissonner sa narine;
Il dort dans le soleil, la main sur sa poitrine,
Tranquille. Il a deux trous rouges au côté droit.

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