Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.048 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.

One Way of Love

by Nora Hopper Chesson

0.4878 + 0.3636i

Drawing the boundary…

If I Had Been a Rose

by Nora Hopper Chesson

0.5168 + 0.4013i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

One Way of Love

by Nora Hopper Chesson

How do I love you, Dear? 
I love you as the moonlight loves the mere 
That all the day waits for it, and keeps close 
Its beauty from the bold eyes of the sun.
But when the day-flower shuts and night's begun 
Under the moonlight wakes the dreaming mere. 
Drinks the soft light, and draws its beauty in; 
Opens and beats and glows — 
A white rose made of water, yea, a rose. 

Yours is a subtler music than my ear 
Can follow into silence when I hear. 
Yours is a rarer colour than one traces 
On a dove's breast, or in the windflowers' faces. 
More strange of scent is this your water-rose 
And deeper-hearted than the moonlight knows 
Perhaps. But in your dark moods and your clear,
Your sweetness and your sorrow and your sin, 
Your doubt, your toil, your idleness, your fear, 
I see them all; and love you always, Dear. 

If I Had Been a Rose

by Nora Hopper Chesson

If I had been a rose 
And not a woman, would your feet have stayed 
A moment in their passing, and in shade 
That meeting boughs of lime and lilac made 
Would you have stood, and softly touched my flower, 
Making me redder, and breathed in my dower 
Of sweetness? Would you gather me, I wonder. 
Or pass without a word, and leave me under 
My shading leaves to watch my bloom grow dry? 
Ah, would you be unkind, and pass me by 
If I had been a rose? 

If I had been a rose, 
You had been kinder than to leave me there. 
Spilling my sweetness out, half in despair, 
And half because remembering is so rare. 
'Tis easy withering roses, even in June! 
Too rough a wind-touch, or too bright a noon. 
The red leaves drop and show the gold heart under 
Past dream or daring, past desire or wonder. 
Ah, yet be gentle though no rose am I! 
My tears are in my heart — my heart were dry, 
If I had been a rose. 

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