Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.024 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 Reeve's Tale

by Richard

−0.4383 − 0.4811i

Drawing the boundary…

To Ellen

by Ralph Waldo Emerson

−0.4610 − 0.4875i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Reeve's Tale

by Richard

In a village far from here,
Lived a miller named Symkyn, oh dear,
He was known for his cheating ways,
Stealing corn for countless days.

Oh, the miller's gonna get his due,
With students John and Alan, too,
A tale of tricks and bedlam, oh,
In the Reeve's tale, let the laughter flow!

John and Alan, students bright,
Set off to set the miller right,
To catch him in his sneaky game,
And make him feel a bit of shame.

They watched him steal their corn away,
Then planned to make him rue the day,
With beds all swapped and tricks so sly,
They laughed and winked and then went by.

At night the miller snored so loud,
While his wife and daughter proud,
In beds were laid and soon were swapped,
With John and Alan, oh how they hopped!

In the dark, the chaos spread,
As everyone swapped around in bed,
The miller’s wife with Alan lay,
While John and daughter had their way.

Come morning light, what a sight,
The miller raged with all his might,
But John and Alan laughed with glee,
They'd had their fun and got off free.

So if you cheat and steal away,
Remember this tale, it’s here to stay,
For tricksters may be tricked as well,
In tales like this we love to tell!

To Ellen

by Ralph Waldo Emerson

And Ellen, when the graybeard years
Have brought us to life's evening hour,
And all the crowded Past appears
A tiny scene of sun and shower,

Then, if I read the page aright
Where Hope, the soothsayer, reads our lot,
Thyself shalt own the page was bright,
Well that we loved, woe had we not,

When Mirth is dumb and Flattery's fled,
And mute thy music's dearest tone,
When all but Love itself is dead
And all but deathless Reason gone.

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