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.

Beowulf's Saga

by Richard

−0.0937 − 0.5078i

Drawing the boundary…

Victory

by Sir Lewis Morris

−0.1048 − 0.4971i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Beowulf's Saga

by Richard

In Geatland bold, a hero rose,
Beowulf his name, the tale it goes.
From shores of home to Hrothgar’s hall,
He heard the call, he’d heed them all.

Raise your horns, sing of glory,
Beowulf's brave, enduring story.
In the halls of kings and battle's fire,
He forged his fate, through realms dire.

Grendel came, a monstrous plight,
In Herot's heart, he struck at night.
Beowulf sailed o'er the sea,
To end the fiend and set men free.

With grip of steel, he faced the beast,
Tore limb from limb, the feast did cease.
Yet darker threats lay still in wait,
A mother's wrath, a dragon's fate.

In murky depths, the mother dwelled,
A vengeful heart, her fury swelled.
Beowulf dove into the deep,
To claim his victory and peace to keep.

Years did pass, a king renowned,
Yet one last foe would bring him down.
A dragon fierce with breath of flame,
Beowulf faced his final claim.

In ancient halls his deeds remain,
A hero’s song, a timeless strain.
Beowulf's name in saga lore,
Lives evermore, forevermore.

Victory

by Sir Lewis Morris

We walked together on the sand;
The white cliffs rose and shut out sight;
And then we rested, hand in hand,
Till evening faded into night.

'Twas the last time,—another day
To busier scenes would see me gone;
How should I tear my heart away,
And leave her loveless and alone?

Long time we sat, until the hour
Clanged on our thought, and then I heard
A low, too eloquent sigh of power,
And felt a quiver like a bird.

And marked the lithe form throb and thrill,
As quick the labouring pulses came;
Great God! how near we are to ill,
Girt by dark gulfs of sin and shame.

"Be glad! 'tis nature made you so;
Put off the yoke of childish fears."
"And are there, then, no jails of woe,
No dungeons of despair and tears? "

And so we rose without a word,
And homeward through the darkness went;
Dumb, though our inmost hearts were stirred,
And, save in fancy, innocent.

'Tis three years since. To-day I pressed
The little hand I knew of old:
She bore an infant at her breast,
And on her left the sacred gold.

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