Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.012 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 Character of a Happy Life

by Sir Henry Wotton

−0.2711 − 0.5207i

Drawing the boundary…

Shut Out that Moon

by Thomas Hardy

−0.2738 − 0.5327i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Character of a Happy Life

by Sir Henry Wotton

How happy is he born and taught 
That serveth not another's will; 
Whose armour is his honest thought, 
And simple truth his utmost skill! 

Whose passions not his masters are; 
Whose soul is still prepared for death, 
Untied unto the world by care 
Of public fame or private breath; 

Who envies none that chance doth raise, 
Nor vice; who never understood 
How deepest wounds are given by praise; 
Nor rules of state, but rules of good; 

Who hath his life from rumours freed; 
Whose conscience is his strong retreat; 
Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 
Nor ruin make oppressors great; 

Who God doth late and early pray 
More of His grace than gifts to lend; 
And entertains the harmless day 
With a religious book or friend; 

—This man is freed from servile bands 
Of hope to rise or fear to fall: 
Lord of himself, though not of lands, 
And having nothing, yet hath all.

Shut Out that Moon

by Thomas Hardy

Close up the casement, draw the blind,
Shut out that stealing moon,
She wears too much the guise she wore
Before our lutes were strewn
With years-deep dust, and names we read
On a white stone were hewn.

Step not out on the dew-dashed lawn
To view the Lady's Chair,
Immense Orion's glittering form,
The Less and Greater Bear:
Stay in; to such sights we were drawn
When faded ones were fair.

Brush not the bough for midnight scents
That come forth lingeringly,
And wake the same sweet sentiments
They breathed to you and me
When living seemed a laugh, and love
All it was said to be.

Within the common lamp-lit room
Prison my eyes and thought;
Let dingy details crudely loom,
Mechanic speech be wrought:
Too fragrant was Life's early bloom,
Too tart the fruit it brought!

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