Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.005 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.

Patty

by John Clare

0.0788 − 0.4825i

Drawing the boundary…

Confessions

by Robert Browning

0.0794 − 0.4773i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Patty

by John Clare

Ye swampy fields of pasture ground,
And rushy spreading greens;
Ye rugged brakes in brambles bound,
And freedom’s wildered scenes;
I’ve trod ye oft, and love ye dear,
And kind was fate to let me;
On you I found my all, for here
’Twas first my Patty met me.

Flow on, thou gently plashing stream,
O’er weed-beds wild and rank;
Delighted I’ve enjoyed my dream
Upon thy mossy bank:
Bemoistening many a weedy stem,
I’ve watched thee wind so clearly;
And on thy bank I found the gem
That makes me love thee dearly.

Thou wilderness, so rudely gay;
Oft as I seek thy plain,
Oft as I wend my steps away,
And meet my joys again,
And brush the weaving branches by
Of briars and thorns so matty;
So oft reflection warms a sigh, —
Here first I met my Patty.

Confessions

by Robert Browning

What is he buzzing in my ears?
"Now that I come to die,
Do I view the world as a vale of tears?"
Ah, reverend sir, not I!

What I viewed there once, what I view again
Where the physic bottles stand
On the table's edge,—is a suburb lane,
With a wall to my bedside hand.

That lane sloped, much as the bottles do,
From a house you could descry
O'er the garden-wall: is the curtain blue
Or green to a healthy eye?

To mine, it serves for the old June weather
Blue above lane and wall;
And that farthest bottle labelled "Ether"
Is the house o'er-topping all.

At a terrace, somewhere near the stopper,
There watched for me, one June,
A girl: I know, sir, it's improper,
My poor mind's out of tune.

Only, there was a way…you crept
Close by the side, to dodge
Eyes in the house, two eyes except:
They styled their house "The Lodge."

What right had a lounger up their lane?
But, by creeping very close,
With the good wall's help,—their eyes might strain
And stretch themselves to Oes,

Yet never catch her and me together,
As she left the attic, there,
By the rim of the bottle labelled "Ether,"
And stole from stair to stair

And stood by the rose-wreathed gate. Alas,
We loved, sir—used to meet;
How sad and bad and mad it was—
But then, how it was sweet!

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