Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.040 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 Singers

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

−0.6534 − 0.5111i

Drawing the boundary…

When the Glare of Day Is Past

by Amelia Alderson Opie

−0.6164 − 0.5266i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Singers

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

God sent his Singers upon earth
With songs of sadness and of mirth,
That they might touch the hearts of men,
And bring them back to heaven again.

The first, a youth, with soul of fire,
Held in his hand a golden lyre;
Through groves he wandered, and by streams,
Playing the music of our dreams.

The second, with a bearded face,
Stood singing in the market-place,
And stirred with accents deep and loud
The hearts of all the listening crowd.

A gray old man, the third and last,
Sang in cathedrals dim and vast,
While the majestic organ rolled
Contrition from its mouths of gold.

And those who heard the Singers three
Disputed which the best might be;
For still their music seemed to start
Discordant echoes in each heart,

But the great Master said, "I see
No best in kind, but in degree;
I gave a various gift to each,
To charm, to strengthen, and to teach.

"These are the three great chords of might,
And he whose ear is tuned aright
Will hear no discord in the three,
But the most perfect harmony."

When the Glare of Day Is Past

by Amelia Alderson Opie

When the glare of day is past,
And dim twilight comes at last,
O! how sweet with thee to stray,
On the banks of Tay
There we hear lone Philomel
Wake her tuneful powers,
'Tis of love her warblings tell,
Love not blest as ours.

Still, we love her tones of woe,
More than strains that livelier flow,
Hearts where real passion sighs,
All that's plaintive prize.
Never on true lover's brow,
Smiles mirth's heartless madness,
Hearts enamour'd deeply know,
What's the charm of sadness.

Yes my love, such hearts as ours,
Joy not in the laughing bowers,
Where proud tapers gild the night,
And gay crowds invite—
But at twilight's last, faint gleam
Scorning glittering folly,
We enjoy on Tay's lone stream
Love, and Melancholy—

—
—
0:00
0:00
Track 1
Skip to main content