Poem fractal

Side by side

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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.

Over the Hills and Far Away

by Nora Hopper Chesson

−0.2476 − 0.2280i

Drawing the boundary…

Jeu d'Esprit

by Francis Ledwidge

−0.2276 − 0.2146i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Over the Hills and Far Away

by Nora Hopper Chesson

Last night, last night, in the dark o' the moon 
Into my dreams slid a faery tune 
It slew the dreams that I dreamed of him, 
With its moonshine music, faint and dim. 
What tune should the fairy pipers play 
But "Over the Hills and Far Away? " 

The music called to my idle feet, 
And O! the music was wild and sweet: 
I left my dreams and my lonely bed, 
And followed afar where the music led — 
And never a tune did the pipers play 
But "Over the Hills and Far Away." 

Over the hills and far away, 
What love has tenderer words to say? 
Love that lifteth or bows the head, 
Love that liveth or love that's dead? 
Hills that are far away are fair, 
And I followed the ghost of my lover there. 

We danced all night in a silent band, 
I and my lover, hand in hand: 
We danced, nor knew till the dew was dry 
That deep slept Donat and lone slept I — 
We took no thought of the coming day 
Over the hills and far away. 

My eyes are blind with the growing light, 
And O my grief! that the day was night — 
For my heart is broke, for my lover's eyes, 
And all day long in my ears there cries 
The tune of the fairy pipes that play 
"Over the Hills and Far Away." 

Jeu d'Esprit

by Francis Ledwidge

What rumours filled the Atlantic sky,
And turned the wild geese back again;
When Plunkett lifted Balor's eye,
And broke Andromeda's strong chain?
Or did they hear that Starkie, James,
Among the gallipots was seen,
And he who called her sweetest names,
Was talking to another queen?

Now all the wise in quicklime burn,
And all the strong have crossed the sea;
But down the pale roads of Ashbourne,
Are heard the voices of the free.
And Jemmy Quigley is the boy,
Could say how queenly was her walk,
When Sackville Street went down like Troy,
And peelers fell in far Dundalk.

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