Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.065 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.

'Tis Spring, My Love, 'Tis Spring

by John Clare

−0.7481 − 0.3165i

Drawing the boundary…

Forgetting

by Rose Hartwick Thorpe

−0.8048 − 0.3476i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

'Tis Spring, My Love, 'Tis Spring

by John Clare

’Tis Spring, my love, ’tis Spring,
And the birds begin to sing:
If ’t was Winter, left alone with you,
Your bonny form and face,
Would make a Summer place,
And be the finest flower that ever grew.

'Tis Spring, my love, ’tis Spring,
And the hazel catkins hing,
While the snowdrop has its little blebs of dew;
But that’s not so white within
As your bosom’s hidden skin—
That sweetest of all flowers that ever grew.

The sun arose from bed,
All strewn with roses red,
But the brightest and the loveliest crimson place
Is not so fresh and fair,
Or so sweet beyond compare,
As thy blushing, ever smiling, happy face.

I love Spring’s early flowers,
And their bloom in its first hours,
But they never half so bright or lovely seem
As the blithe and happy grace
Of my darling’s blushing face,
And the happiness of loves young dream.

Forgetting

by Rose Hartwick Thorpe

We stand with our faces earthward
And watch for the shadows to fall,
Forgetting that high in the heavens
The sunlight is shining for all;
Forgetting that pleasure and laughter
Are ours to claim as a right;
Forgetting that morning comes after
The gloom and the shadow of night.

We stand 'midst our broken idols,
And weep with a childlike grief,
Forgetting that time will bring us
The balm of a sure relief;
Forgetting that forth from our sorrows
Spring many a hopeful ray;
Forgetting that golden to-morrows
Are born from the tears of to-day.

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