Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.039 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.

Let me sleep, but wake me up before you go

by Richard

0.1960 − 0.1716i

Drawing the boundary…

The Brow of Nefin

by Douglas Hyde

0.1632 − 0.1507i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Let me sleep, but wake me up before you go

by Richard

The sheets are tangled, the air is cool
Sunlight streams, paints the room a fool
My eyelids heavy, a drowsy plea
Let me slumber, just hold me near, please

Let me sleep, but wake me up before you go
A whisper soft, a gentle touch, I need to know
That you're leaving, even for a little while
A goodbye kiss, a sleepy smile

The world can wait, the day's a blur
Lost in dreams, of me and you, for sure
But hold this moment, before you disappear
This quiet haven, where worries have no fear

The warmth beside me, a fleeting spark
This precious sleep, leaves its loving mark
A silent promise, whispered in the breeze
That you'll return, and set my heart at ease

Just a goodbye, a moment shared
Then back to dreams, with love repaired
Let me sleep, but wake me up before you go
The rest will come, as long as you let me know

The Brow of Nefin

by Douglas Hyde

Did I stand on the bald top of Nefin
And my hundred-times loved one with me,
We should nestle together as safe in
Its shade as the birds on a tree.
From your lips such a music is shaken,
When you speak it awakens my pain,
And my eyelids by sleep are forsaken,
And I seek for my slumber in vain.

But were I on the fields of the ocean
I should sport on its infinite room,
I should plough through the billow's commotion
Though my friends should look dark at my doom.
For the flower of all maidens of magic,
Is beside me where'er I may be,
And my heart like a coal is extinguished,
Not a woman takes pity on me.

How well for the birds in all weather,
They rise up on high in the air,
And then sleep upon one bough together
Without sorrow or trouble or care.
But so it is not in this world
For myself and my thousand-times fair,
For away, far apart from each other,
Each day rises barren and bare.

Say, what dost thou think of the heavens
When the heat overmasters the day,
Or what when the steam of the tide
Rises up in the face of the bay?
Even so is the man who has given
An inordinate love-gift away,
Like a tree on a mountain all riven,
Without blossom or leaflet or spray.

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