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.

The First Food

by George Sterling

0.3105 − 0.0338i

Drawing the boundary…

A Love Song

by D. H. Lawrence

0.2868 − 0.0648i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The First Food

by George Sterling

Mother, in some sad evening long ago,
From your young breast my groping lips were taken,
Their hunger stilled, so soon again to waken,
But nevermore that holy food to know.

Ah! nevermore! for all the child might crave!
Ah! nevermore! through years unkind and dreary!
Often of other fare my lips are weary,
Unwearied once of what your bosom gave.

(Poor wordless mouth that could not speak your name!
At what unhappy revels has it eaten
The viands that no memory can sweeten,—
The banquet found eternally the same!)

Then fell a shadow first on you and me,
And tendrils broke that held us two how dearly!
Once infinitely yours, then hourly, yearly,
Less yours, as less the worthy yours to be.

(O mouth that yet should kiss the mouth of Sin!
Were lies so sweet, now bitter to remember?
Slow sinks the flame unfaithful to an ember;
New beauty fades and passion's wine is thin.)

How poor an end of that solicitude
And all the love I had not from another!
Peace to your dear, forgiving heart, O Mother,
Who gave the dear and unremembered food!

A Love Song

by D. H. Lawrence

Reject me not if I should say to you
I do forget the sounding of your voice,  
I do forget your eyes that searching through  
The mists perceive our marriage, and rejoice.  
 
Yet, when the apple-blossom opens wide
Under the pallid moonlight’s fingering,  
I see your blanched face at my breast, and hide  
My eyes from diligent work, malingering.  
 
Ah, then, upon my bedroom I do draw  
The blind to hide the garden, where the moon
Enjoys the open blossoms as they straw  
Their beauty for his taking, boon for boon.  
 
And I do lift my aching arms to you,  
And I do lift my anguished, avid breast,  
And I do weep for very pain of you,
And fling myself at the doors of sleep, for rest.  
 
And I do toss through the troubled night for you,  
Dreaming your yielded mouth is given to mine,  
Feeling your strong breast carry me on into  
The peace where sleep is stronger even than wine.

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