Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.058 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 King of Ireland's Son

by Nora Hopper Chesson

−0.0820 + 0.8727i

Drawing the boundary…

To His Absent Diana

by Henry Constable

−0.0780 + 0.8146i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The King of Ireland's Son

by Nora Hopper Chesson

Now all away to Tir na n'Og are many roads that run, 
But he has ta'en the longest lane, the King of Ireland's son. 

There's roads of hate, and roads of love, and many a middle way, 
And castles keep the valleys deep where happy lovers stray — 

Where Aongus goes there's many a rose burns red mid shadows dun, 
No rose there is will draw his kiss, the King of Ireland's son. 

And yonder where the sun is high Love laughs amid the hay, 
But smile and sigh have passed him by, and never make delay. 

And here (and O! the sun is low!) they're glad for harvest won, 
But naught he cares for wheat or tares, the King of Ireland's son! 

And you have flung love's apple by, and I'm to pluck it yet: 
But what are fruits of gramarye with druid dews beset? 

Oh, what are magic fruits to him who meets the Lianan sidhe? 
Or hears athwart the distance dim Fionn's horn blow drowsily? 

The star is yours to win or lose, and me the dusk has won, 
He follows after shadows, the King of Ireland's son. 

To His Absent Diana

by Henry Constable

Severed from sweet Content, my life's sole light;
Banished by overweening wit from my desire:
This poor acceptance only I require,
That though my fault have forced me from thy sight;
Yet that thou wouldst (my sorrows to requite)
Review these Sonnets, pictures of thy praise;
Wherein each woe thy wondrous worth doth raise,
Though first thy worth bereft me of delight.
See them forsaken: for I them forsook,
Forsaken first of thee, next of my sense;
And when thou deignst on their black tears to look,
Shed not one tear my tears to recompense:
But joy in this (though Fates 'gainst me repine)
My verse still lives, to witness thee divine.

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