Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.028 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.

November

by Elizabeth Stoddard

−0.1530 − 0.0099i

Drawing the boundary…

Then Be It So, and Let Us Part

by Amelia Alderson Opie

−0.1732 − 0.0292i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

November

by Elizabeth Stoddard

Much have I spoken of the faded leaf;
Long have I listened to the wailing wind,
And watched it ploughing through the heavy clouds,
For autumn charms my melancholy mind.

When autumn comes, the poets sing a dirge:
The year must perish; all the flowers are dead;
The sheaves are gathered; and the mottled quail
Runs in the stubble, but the lark has fled!

Still, autumn ushers in the Christmas cheer,
The holly-berries and the ivy-tree:
They weave a chaplet for the Old Year's bier
These waiting mourners do not sing for me!

I find sweet peace in depths of autumn woods,
Where grow the ragged ferns and roughened moss;
The naked, silent trees have taught me this, —
The loss of beauty is not always loss!

Then Be It So, and Let Us Part

by Amelia Alderson Opie

Then be it so and let us part,
Since love like mine has fail'd to move thee;
But do not think this constant heart
Can ever cease, ingrate, to love thee.
No—spite of all thy cold disdain,
I'll bless the hour when first I met thee,
And rather bear whole years of pain
Than e'en for one short hour forget thee.
                                               Forget thee! No.

Still Mem'ry now my only friend,
Shall with her soothing art endeavour
My present anguish to suspend,
By painting pleasures lost for ever.
She shall the happy hours renew.
When full of hope and smiles I met thee,
And little thought the day to view
When thou wouldst wish me to forget thee.
                                               Forget thee! No.

Yet, have I liv'd to view that day,
To mourn my past destructive blindness,
To see now turn'd with scorn away
Those eyes once fill'd with answering kindness.
But go—farewell and be thou blest,
If thoughts of what I feel will let thee:
Yet, though thy Image kills my rest,
'Twere greater anguish to forget thee.
                                               Forget thee! No.

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