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 Visit

by Ralph Waldo Emerson

−0.1724 + 1.0511i

Drawing the boundary…

The neophyte, baptized in smiles

by Dylan Thomas

−0.1487 + 1.0737i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Visit

by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Askest, 'How long thou shalt stay?'
Devastator of the day!
Know, each substance and relation,
Thorough nature's operation,
Hath its unit, bound and metre;
And every new compound
Is some product and repeater,—
Product of the earlier found.
But the unit of the visit,
The encounter of the wise,—
Say, what other metre is it
Than the meeting of the eyes?
Nature poureth into nature
Through the channels of that feature,
Riding on the ray of sight,
Fleeter far than whirlwinds go,
Or for service, or delight,
Hearts to hearts their meaning show,
Sum their long experience,
And import intelligence.
Single look has drained the breast;
Single moment years confessed.
The duration of a glance
Is the term of convenance,
And, though thy rede be church or state,
Frugal multiples of that.
Speeding Saturn cannot halt;
Linger,—thou shalt rue the fault:
If Love his moment overstay,
Hatred's swift repulsions play.

The neophyte, baptized in smiles

by Dylan Thomas

The neophyte, baptized in smiles,
Is laughing boy beneath his oath,
Breathing no poison from the oval mouth,
Or evil from the cankered heart.
Where love is there’s a crust of joy 
To hide what drags its belly from the egg,
And, on the ground, gyrates as easily
As though the sun were spinning up through it.
Boy sucks no sweetness from the willing mouth,
Nothing but poison from the breath,
And, in the grief of certainty,
Knows his love rots.
Outdo your prude’s genetic faculty
That grew for good
Out of the bitter conscience and the nerves,
Not from the senses’ dualizing tip
Of water, flame, or air.
Wetten your tongue and lip,
Moisten your care to carelessness,
For she who sprinkled on your brow
Soft shining symbols of her peace with you,
Was old when you were young,
Old in illusions turned to acritudes,
And thoughts, be they so kind,
Touched, by a finger’s nail, to dust.

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