Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.006 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.

A Love Dream

by James Edwin Campbell

−0.3516 − 0.0320i

Drawing the boundary…

Writing History

by A. Mary F. Robinson

−0.3541 − 0.0268i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

A Love Dream

by James Edwin Campbell

I know 'twas a dream, yet sweet was the theme,
And I strive to recall its splendor—
My soul upward leaps as Thought backward sweeps
To my dream so warm and so tender.

Where sea billows toss 'neath the bright Southern cross,
By the sea lay I idly dreaming,
While the stars burned a way from Night unto Day
And the waves like helmets were gleaming.

A maid came and stood at the neck of the wood
And her locks on the Night were streaming,
She was tall as pines that rock in the winds,
And her eyes like Orion were gleaming.

She came to me there and caught up her hair
And spread it a mantle above me—
O my soul grew sick and the hot air thick
As she whispered: "Come sweet, now love me."

I kissed the red mouth of th' passionate South,
Till my lips with kissing grew husky,
I looked in the eyes that were storm-charged skies,
'Neath the cloud of her thick locks dusky.

Then up the Day came with cohorts of flame
And the Soul of the South Wind left me,
And Joy fled away with the Rise of the Day,
For Day, of my Love had bereft me.

I know 'twas a dream, yet sweet was the theme,
And I strive to recall its splendor—
My soul upward leaps as Thought backward sweeps
To my dream so warm and so tender.

Writing History

by A. Mary F. Robinson

The profit of my living long ago
I dedicated to the unloving dead,
Though all my service they shall never know
Whose world is vanished and their name unsaid.

For none remembers now the good, the ill
They did, the deeds they thought should last for aye;
But in the little room my voice can fill
They shall not be forgotten till I die.

So, in a lonely churchyard by the shore,
The sea winds drift the sand across the mounds
And those forgotten graves are found no more,
And no man knows the churchyard's holy bounds;

Till one come by and stoop with reverent hands
To clear the graves of their encumbering sands.

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