Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.015 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.

Andaluza

by Grace Hazard Conkling

−0.3399 − 0.4827i

Drawing the boundary…

It is Not Always May

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

−0.3525 − 0.4749i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Andaluza

by Grace Hazard Conkling

The lashed silk wraps you in raw gold:
Your shoulders flexed, your subtle hips
Swaying to rhythms that were old
When first Columbus begged for ships.

Old as the mountains: flowing forth
From dark to bright as your arms flow
Upward like swallows darting north,
Downward like their swerved wings that know

When on the instant to wheel south.
Against the purring castanets
Is set the secret of your mouth,
A crafty scarlet that forgets.

Your gypsy heels beat fierce tattoo:
An arabesque of sudden pain.
Vehement, glowing, who are you?
What is the meaning of this Spain?

Your skirt flares tense with intricate turning
And gay tormented sequins clink.
You give us only time for learning
To feel, to suffer…not to think.

It is Not Always May

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The sun is bright,—the air is clear,
The darting swallows soar and sing.
And from the stately elms I hear
The bluebird prophesying Spring.

So blue you winding river flows,
It seems an outlet from the sky,
Where waiting till the west-wind blows,
The freighted clouds at anchor lie.

All things are new;—the buds, the leaves,
That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest,
And even the nest beneath the eaves;—
There are no birds in last year's nest!

All things rejoice in youth and love,
The fulness of their first delight!
And learn from the soft heavens above
The melting tenderness of night.

Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme,
Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay;
Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime,
For oh, it is not always May!

Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth,
To some good angel leave the rest;
For Time will teach thee soon the truth,
There are no birds in last year's nest!

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