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.

The Willing Mistriss

by Aphra Behn

−0.1285 − 0.4743i

Drawing the boundary…

Victory

by Sir Lewis Morris

−0.1048 − 0.4971i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Willing Mistriss

by Aphra Behn

Amyntas led me to a Grove,
Where all the Trees did shade us;
The Sun it self, though it had Strove,
It could not have betray’d us:
The place secur’d from humane Eyes,
No other fear allows.
But when the Winds that gently rise,
Doe Kiss the yielding Boughs.

Down there we satt upon the Moss,
And id begin to play
A Thousand Amorous Tricks, to pass
The heat of all the day.
A many Kisses he did give:
And I return’d the same
Which made me willing to receive
That which I dare not name.

His Charming Eyes no Aid requir’d
To tell their softning Tale;
On her that was already fir’d
’Twas easy to prevaile.
He did but Kiss and Clasp me round,
Whilst those his thoughts Exprest:
And lay’d me gently on the Ground;
Ah who can guess the rest?

Victory

by Sir Lewis Morris

We walked together on the sand;
The white cliffs rose and shut out sight;
And then we rested, hand in hand,
Till evening faded into night.

'Twas the last time,—another day
To busier scenes would see me gone;
How should I tear my heart away,
And leave her loveless and alone?

Long time we sat, until the hour
Clanged on our thought, and then I heard
A low, too eloquent sigh of power,
And felt a quiver like a bird.

And marked the lithe form throb and thrill,
As quick the labouring pulses came;
Great God! how near we are to ill,
Girt by dark gulfs of sin and shame.

"Be glad! 'tis nature made you so;
Put off the yoke of childish fears."
"And are there, then, no jails of woe,
No dungeons of despair and tears? "

And so we rose without a word,
And homeward through the darkness went;
Dumb, though our inmost hearts were stirred,
And, save in fancy, innocent.

'Tis three years since. To-day I pressed
The little hand I knew of old:
She bore an infant at her breast,
And on her left the sacred gold.

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