Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.016 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.

Good Night

by Daniel Webster Davis

−0.4174 − 0.3763i

Drawing the boundary…

O Lady, Leave Thy Silken Thread

by Thomas Hood

−0.4022 − 0.3707i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Good Night

by Daniel Webster Davis

Good night, the day is done,
And evening shadows softly fall;
Good night—
The night bird's gently cooing to its mate,
And slowly now the silv'ry moonbeams
Deck the evening sky with lovely rays:
Good night—good night.

Good night the day was long,
And weary feet now gladly say
Good night,
To toil and care as gentle sleep,
The "sweet restorer," softly steals
And fills our tired eyes; we gladly say
Good night—good night.

Good night earth's day must close,
And death's last summons make us say
Good night;
From pain and care of life's rude day,
At last we come to Jordon's brink,
And fiy to realms of blissful dreams;
Good night—Good night.

Good night we fondly hope
To us that brighter day will dawn;
Good night;
May we so strive, and long and trust
And live in faith to see that eve,
When earth's last scene shall fade from view;
Good night—good night.

O Lady, Leave Thy Silken Thread

by Thomas Hood

O Lady, leave thy silken thread
And flowery tapestrie:
There's living roses on the bush,
And blossoms on the tree;
Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand
Some random bud will meet;
Thou canst not tread, but thou wilt find
The daisy at thy feet.

'Tis like the birthday of the world,
When earth was born in bloom;
The light is made of many dyes,
The air is all perfume;
There's crimson buds, and white and blue—
The very rainbow showers
Have turn'd to blossoms where they fell,
And sown the earth with flowers.

There's fairy tulips in the east,
The garden of the sun;
The very streams reflect the hues,
And blossom as they run:
While Morn opes like a crimson rose,
Still wet with pearly showers;
Then, lady, leave the silken thread
Thou twinest into flowers!

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