Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.025 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.

Ceol-Sidhe

by Nora Hopper Chesson

−0.2197 − 0.4636i

Drawing the boundary…

Shame

by Nora Hopper Chesson

−0.2403 − 0.4493i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Ceol-Sidhe

by Nora Hopper Chesson

There never was any music 
In the golden throat of a bird, 
More fine and clear than the piping 
That in dreams I heard 
Cry through the Heart Lake's rushes, 
And falter and fade away, 
Like odours of thyme one crushes 
In the heat of the day. 

There never was any piping 
So sweet and tender and gay, 
It came like the wind, and lightly 
It blew away — 
It laughed and it grew not weary, 
It sighed and was sweeter yet, 
It sang for the hope of Eri 
And her heavy fret. 

There never was any piping 
So merry and none so sad, 
For it sang of a far green island 
Where, scarlet-clad, 
All under the druid quicken, 
Wild dancers gather and go, 
And under the oaks, unstricken, 
Feeds Saav, the doe. 

And when silence took the piping, 
"It's O to be there," I cried, 
"To dance with no thought of grieving 
For joy that died — 
To dance, and be never weary 
For night or day, 
With the kindliest folk of Eri 
Till the dew's away. 
Sweet, sweet is the twilight dancing, 
Not sweet is the homespun day." 
But the dawn through the rushes glancing 
Drove my dream away. 

Shame

by Nora Hopper Chesson

"I love thee so, I love thee so, 
I will not ever let thee go," 
Shame said, and kissed me tenderly; 
"I will be to thee for thy wife,
And all the nights and days of life 
Shall find me faithful unto thee. 

"The vine and peaches thou dost set 
Shall bear my mark, lest thou forget. 
The labour of thy weary hands 
We two will eat; we two will drink 
Life's cup, and, when thy soul-fires sink, 
I'll blow flame up into the brands.

"Hate me or love me: I am thine,
My tears are in thy cup for wine,
My laughter is thy musicking; 
No strength in fennel shalt thou find 
To put my weakness from thy mind, 
To loosen these my hands that cling. 

"I love thee so, my mate, my mate,
That when thy hearers for thee wait, 
I will not wholly let thee go: 
But I will plant above thy sleep 
Rowers that shall my memory keep 
When thou art earth in earth below." 

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