Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.012 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 Windmill

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

−0.2456 − 0.8134i

Drawing the boundary…

The Dying Warrior

by Thomas Moore

−0.2408 − 0.8241i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Windmill

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Behold! a giant am I!
Aloft here in my tower,
With my granite jaws I devour
The maize, and the wheat, and the rye,
And grind them into flour.

I look down over the farms;
In the fields of grain I see
The harvest that is to be,
And I fling to the air my arms,
For I know it is all for me.

I hear the sound of flails
Far off, from the threshing-floors
In barns, with their open doors,
And the wind, the wind in my sails,
Louder and louder roars.

I stand here in my place,
With my foot on the rock below,
And whichever way it may blow
I meet it face to face,
As a brave man meets his foe.

And while we wrestle and strive
My master, the miller, stands
And feeds me with his hands;
For he knows who makes him thrive,
Who makes him lord of lands.

On Sundays I take my rest;
Church-going bells begin
Their low, melodious din;
I cross my arms on my breast,
And all is peace within.

The Dying Warrior

by Thomas Moore

A wounded Chieftain, lying
  By the Danube's leafy side,
Thus faintly said, in dying,
  "Oh! bear, thou foaming tide.
  "This gift to my lady-bride."

'Twas then, in life's last quiver,
  He flung the scarf he wore
Into the foaming river,
  Which, ah too quickly, bore
  That pledge of one no more!

With fond impatience burning,
  The Chieftain's lady stood,
To watch her love returning
  In triumph down the flood,
  From that day's field of blood.

But, field, alas, ill-fated!
  The lady saw, instead
Of the bark whose speed she waited,
  Her hero's scarf, all red
With the drops his heart had shed.

One shriek—and all was over—
  Her life-pulse ceased to beat;
The gloomy waves now cover
  That bridal-flower so sweet.
  And the scarf is her winding sheet!

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