Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.032 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.

Stricken

by Philip Bourke Marston

−0.0046 + 0.1955i

Drawing the boundary…

Music's Power

by Caroline Elizabeth Sheridan

−0.0070 + 0.1639i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Stricken

by Philip Bourke Marston

O love, behold thy feet are shod with flame! 
Thy body clothed with torture as a dress; 
Too weak thy stricken lips are to express 
Thy mighty grief, or call upon the name 
Of Him who gives the sorrow and the shame. 
Thy lips have tasted the salt bitterness 
Of tears like blood, wrung out of thy distress. 
Thy soul must reap a barren, bitter fame. 

Fair lands beneath thee, and fair skies above. 
Thy heart falls blind, outside of that fair land 
Whereto it may not come; all words are vain, — 
It is the unattainable we love. 
But rest a little, and a friendly hand 
Shall give thee peace, and ease from all thy pain. 

Music's Power

by Caroline Elizabeth Sheridan

Have you never heard, in music’s sound,
Some chords which o’er your heart
First fling a moment’s magic round,
Then silently depart?
But with the echo on the air,
Roused by that simple lay,
It leaves a world of feeling there
We cannot chase away.
Yes, yes, — a sound hath power to bid them come —
Youth’s half-forgotten hopes, childhood’s remembered home.

When sitting in your silent home
You gaze around and weep,
Or call to those who cannot come
Nor wake from dreamless sleep;
Those chords, as oft as you bemoan
"The distant and the dead,"
Bring dimly back the fancied tone
Of some sweet voice that’s fled!
Yes, yes, — a sound hath power to bid them come —
Youth’s half-forgotten hopes, childhood’s remembered home.

And when, amid the festal throng,
You are, or would be gay —
And seek to while, with dance and song,
Your sadder thoughts away;
They strike those chords and smiles depart,
As, rushing o’er your soul,
The untold feelings of the heart
Awake, and spurn control!
Yes, yes, — a sound hath power to bid them come —
Youth’s half-forgotten hopes, childhood’s remembered home.

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