Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.036 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.

Love's Warfare

by Philip Bourke Marston

−0.0667 + 0.3821i

Drawing the boundary…

For Music

by Lord Byron

−0.0316 + 0.3759i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Love's Warfare

by Philip Bourke Marston

"And are these cold, light words your last?" he said, 
And rose, his face made pale with outraged love. 
She answered gayly, "Are they not enough?"
And lightly laughed until his spirit bled, 
While snake-like on his grief her beauty fed. 
He looked upon her face once more for proof; 
Then through and through his lips the sharp teeth drove, 
Till with the bitter dew of blood made red. 

At length he said, "And so 'twas but a jest, — 
A well-conceived, well-executed plan; 
Yet now may God forgive you, if God can!"
And, passing, left her calm and self-possessed. 
She watched him cross the lawn with eyes bent low. 
Where she had kissed his face one hour ago. 

For Music

by Lord Byron

I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name,
There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame:
But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.

Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace
Were those hours—can their joy or their bitterness cease?
We repent—we abjure—we will break from our chain,—
We will part,—we will fly to—unite it again!

Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt!
Forgive me, adored one!— forsake, if thou wilt;—
But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased,
And man shall not break it—whatever thou mayst.

And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,
This soul, in its bitterest blackness, shall be;
And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,
With thee by my side, than with worlds at our feet.

One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,
Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove;
And the heartless may wonder at all I resign—
Thy lip shall reply, not to them, but to mine.

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