Poem fractal

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0.033 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.

Sad Songs Remembered

by Philip Bourke Marston

−0.1310 + 0.2580i

Drawing the boundary…

Lochleven No More

by Michael Bruce

−0.1637 + 0.2611i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Sad Songs Remembered

by Philip Bourke Marston

Not of my lady be, this once, my lay, 
But of my songs of her be this my song;— 
My songs, that stood, a strange and unseen throng, 
About my spirit, ready to obey 
The words that grief and love might have to say. 
In this one, all the pain of hope found tongue; 
To this I said, "Go forth! and be thou strong, 
Some pity of my lady's soul to pray."

And now, poor songs, that they have done their best, 
Though weak their wings might be my love to bear,— 
Now that Joy's regal foot is on the stair 
That Grief so often trod in long unrest,— 
I will not these my faithful songs despise, 
But look on them with reverential eyes. 

Lochleven No More

by Michael Bruce

Farewell to Lochleven and Gairny's fair stream,
How sweet, on its banks, of my Peggy to dream;
But now I must go to a far distant shore,
And I'll may-be return to Lochleven no more.

No more in the Spring shall I walk with my dear,
Where gowans bloom bonny, and Gairny runs clear;
Far hence must I wander, my pleasures are o'er,
Since I'll see my dear maid and Lochleven no more.

No more do I sing, since far from my delight,
But in sighs spend the day, and in tears the long night;
By Devon's dull current stretch'd mourning I'll lie,
While the hills and the woods to my mourning reply.

But wherever I wander, by night or by day,
True love to my Peggy still with me shall stay;
And ever and aye my loss I'll deplore,
Till the woodlands re-echo Lochleven no more.

Though from her far distant, to her I'll be true,
And still my fond heart keep her image in view:
O could I obtain her, my griefs were all o'er,
I would mourn the dear maid and Lochleven no more.

But if Fate has decreed that it ne'er shall be so,
Then grief shall attend me wherever I go;
Till from life's stormy sea I reach death's silent shore,
Then I'll think upon her and Lochleven no more.

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