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.

The Pardoner's Tale

by Richard

−0.1695 − 0.3406i

Drawing the boundary…

Bright Flower, whose home is every where!

by William Wordsworth

−0.2008 − 0.3342i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Pardoner's Tale

by Richard

In a village far and wide,
Three young men of sinful pride,
To the tavern they did ride,
With gold and ale their hearts confide.

"Death, oh Death, where dost thou hide?
We seek thee out, we shall not bide.
With a curse and a pledge, by dawn's early tide,
We’ll conquer thee, we’ll turn the tide."

An old man they did espy,
Wrinkled face, and hollow eye,
“Why do you live when all must die?”
Said he, “Find Death where shadows lie.”

To an ancient oak they roam,
Found a treasure, bright as foam,
Gold so bright it shone like dome,
“We are rich!” they cried, “This wealth we own.”

One went off to fetch their bread,
Greed and envy filled their head,
Two conspired when he returned,
His life they'd take, their hearts had turned.

The one returned with poisoned wine,
Plans to claim all gold as mine,
The two did strike, their friend lay dead,
Then drank the wine, by poison led.

They drank and died, the gold untouched,
In greed’s cruel grasp, their fate was clutched,
For Death had come, by greed dispatched,
Their souls to Hell, forever snatched.

So heed this tale of folly's cost,
Greed and pride, all lives are lost,
In shadows deep where souls are tossed,
The wages of sin are cold and frost.

Bright Flower, whose home is every where!

by William Wordsworth

Bright Flower, whose home is every where!
A Pilgrim bold in Nature's care,
And all the long year through the heir
Of joy or sorrow,
Methinks that there abides in thee
Some concord with humanity,
Given to no other Flower I see
The forest thorough!

Is it that Man is soon deprest?
A thoughtless Thing! who, once unblest, 
Does little on his memory rest,
Or on his reason,
And Thou would'st teach him how to find
A shelter under every wind.
A hope for times that are unkind
And every season?

Thou wander'st the wide world about,
Uncheck'd by pride or scrupulous doubt,
With friends to greet thee, or without,
Yet pleased and willing; 
Meek, yielding to the occasion's call,
And all things suffering from all,
Thy function apostolical
In peace fulfilling.

—
—
0:00
0:00
Track 1
Skip to main content