Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.053 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.

Conjured

by Robert Nathaniel Dett

−0.4444 − 1.2079i

Drawing the boundary…

Nike

by Bliss Carman

−0.4961 − 1.2191i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Conjured

by Robert Nathaniel Dett

Couldn't sleep last night!
Just toss and pitch!
I'm conjured! I'm conjured!
By that little witch!

My heart's all afire!
My brain's got the itch!
I tell you I'm conjured
By that little witch!

I'm "patchy" in feelings;
It seems that a stitch
Has sewed me up inside out.
Then there's a hitch

Whenever I try to think;
Side track and switch
My thoughts do; and finally
Dump me in the ditch.

And when I talk, my voice
Seems all out of pitch;
When I think about her,
My pulses, they twitch.

I'm in love or I'm crazy,
I can't tell quite which;
But I know I've been conjured
By that little witch!

Nike

by Bliss Carman

What do men give thanks for?
I give thanks for one,
Lovelier than morning,
Dearer than the sun.

Such a head the victors
Must have praised and known,
With that breast and bearing,
Nike's very own—

As superb, untrammeled,
Rhythmed and poised and free
As the strong pure sea-wind
Walking on the sea;

Such a hand as Beauty
Uses with full heart,
Seeking for her freedom
In new shapes of art;

Soft as rain in April,
Quiet as the days
Of the purple asters
And the autumn haze;

With a soul more subtle
Than the light of stars,
Frailer than a moth's wing
To the touch that mars;

Wise with all the silence
Of the waiting hills,
When the gracious twilight
Wakes in them and thrills;

With a voice more tender
Than the early moon
Hears among the thrushes
In the woods of June;

Delicate as grasses
When they lift and stir —
One sweet lyric woman—
I give thanks for her.

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