Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.010 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…

Mad Song

by Amelia Alderson Opie

−0.0653 + 0.3726i

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. 

Mad Song

by Amelia Alderson Opie

Oh! say on a Pillow of Down can you rest,
While I on the Earth or on Straw must recline!
Oh! say can you wrap the warm Fur o'er your breast?
While bare to the Winds and the Tempest is mine.

No Pillow have I, even that you deny one,
No Garment have I, nor a Penny to buy one,
He hears not, nor Pities my frantic distress,
Yet sure he remembers mad Wand'ring Bess.

He gave me bright Gems, and he gave me much Gold;
And proud was his fond foolish Anna to wear them,
But the love which he gave, Oh! it soon grew cold;
And then I no longer, no longer could bear them.

Can Gems calmly lie, on a fast breaking heart,
Can they bind the poor brain, the poor brain that's on fire,
No my sighs from my heart, bade the bright Jewels start,
And the throbs of my brain, of my brain burst their wire.

I sent them all back from a Soul on the rack,
And said all thy presents deceiver I spurn,
For that Jewel my fame, which I gave thee Oh! shame,
That Jewel most precious, thou can'st not return.

They tell me I'm wild, but I answer oh! no,
For my wrongs for my wrongs still my memory can seize on,
And trust me to know the extent of ones woe,
Is a proof too sure of Reason, is a proof too sure of Reason.

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