Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.014 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.

Guinevere

by Nora Hopper Chesson

−0.0127 − 0.0371i

Drawing the boundary…

Fetters

by Arthur O'Shaughnessy

−0.0189 − 0.0495i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Guinevere

by Nora Hopper Chesson

Amid the blossoms of the whitethorn wood, 
Flower of all flowers, in Arthur's dream she stood, 
No lily, but a rose of womanhood. 

Gold veil blown backward from her golden hair, 
Green-clad like young leaves in the April air: 
Too fair the dream is, Arthur: deadly fair! 

Yet thou shalt have the rose awhile to hold, 
But for its sweetness' sake thy hearth grows cold — 
Thy sword is rusted all for hair of gold! 

How should he dream of sorrow, shame, or fear, 
So loud the birds sang round the magic mere 
Whose lightest ripple whispered "Guinevere!" 

How should he dream of grief who dreams of love? 
Or guess how sore the cage shall fret his dove 
When she grows weary of the gold thereof? 

Dream: it is good to dream when day is young — 
Thy Queen shall dream another wood among 
When love has loosed the bonds on Lancelot's tongue. 

Dream: as in Avalon (if oaths hold good) 
To-day thou dreamest of her as she stood 
Among the blossoms of the whitethorn wood. 

Dream: I, too, dream who saw but yesterday 
Queen Guinevere among the blossomed may, 
A rose, a rose that shall not fade away. 

Not fade, nor fail, but quicken still men's blood 
In an uncourtly age, a lighter mood — 
A rose that blossoms in a whitethorn wood. 

Fetters

by Arthur O'Shaughnessy

In too much seeking love I found but grief; 
I have but multiplied the means of pain;
A thousand ties too poignant or too brief 
Bind me to things that love not back again.

All things with equal power my heart have won — 
Truth by its light, the Unknown by its veil — 
A tenuous gold thread binds me to the sun, 
And to each star a silken thread more frail.

The cadence chains me to the melody, 
Its velvet softness to the rose I touch; 
One smile soon robbed my eye of liberty, 
And for my mouth the first kiss did as much.

My life now hangs upon these fragile threads, 
Captive of all fair things I feel or see; 
Each breath that change or trouble o'er them sheds
Rends from my heart itself a part of me.

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