Poem fractal

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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.

Sad Songs Remembered

by Philip Bourke Marston

−0.1310 + 0.2580i

Drawing the boundary…

The Flea

by John Donne

−0.1358 + 0.2228i

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. 

The Flea

by John Donne

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,   
How little that which thou deniest me is;   
It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;   
Thou know’st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead,
    Yet this enjoys before it woo,
    And pampered swells with one blood made of two,
    And this, alas, is more than we would do.

Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, nay more than married are.   
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is;   
Though parents grudge, and you, w'are met,   
And cloistered in these living walls of jet.
    Though use make you apt to kill me,
    Let not to that, self-murder added be,
    And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail, in blood of innocence?   
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?   
Yet thou triumph’st, and say'st that thou   
Find’st not thy self, nor me the weaker now;
    ’Tis true; then learn how false, fears be:
    Just so much honor, when thou yield’st to me,
    Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.

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