Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.031 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.

To Celia pleading want of Merit

by Thomas Stanley

0.1314 − 0.4533i

Drawing the boundary…

Ah, Are You Digging On My Grave?

by Thomas Hardy

0.1136 − 0.4792i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

To Celia pleading want of Merit

by Thomas Stanley

Dear urge no more that killing cause
Of our divorce;
Love is not fetter'd by such laws,
Nor bows to any force:
Though thou deniest I should be thine,
Yet say not thou deserv'st not to be mine.

Oh rather frown away my breath
With thy disdain,
Or flatter me with smiles to death;
By joy or sorrow slain,
'Tis lesse crime to be kill'd by thee,
Then I thus cause of mine own death should be.

Thy self of beauty to devest
And me of love,
Or from the worth of thine own breast
Thus to detract, would prove
In us a blindnesse, and in thee
At best a sacrilegious modestie.

But (Celia) if thou wilt despise
What all admire,
Nor rate thy self at the just price
Of beauty or desire,
Yet meet my flames and thou shalt see
That equal love knows no disparity.

Ah, Are You Digging On My Grave?

by Thomas Hardy

"Ah, are you digging on my grave,
My loved one? — planting rue?"
— "No: yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
'It cannot hurt her now,' he said,
'That I should not be true.'"

"Then who is digging on my grave,
My nearest dearest kin?"
— "Ah, no: they sit and think, 'What use!
What good will planting flowers produce?
No tendance of her mound can loose
Her spirit from Death's gin.'"

"But someone digs upon my grave?
My enemy? — prodding sly?"
— "Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate
That shuts on all flesh soon or late,
She thought you no more worth her hate,
And cares not where you lie.

"Then, who is digging on my grave?
Say — since I have not guessed!"
— "O it is I, my mistress dear,
Your little dog , who still lives near,
And much I hope my movements here
Have not disturbed your rest?"

"Ah yes! You dig upon my grave…
Why flashed it not to me
That one true heart was left behind!
What feeling do we ever find
To equal among human kind
A dog's fidelity!"

"Mistress, I dug upon your grave
To bury a bone, in case
I should be hungry near this spot
When passing on my daily trot.
I am sorry, but I quite forgot
It was your resting place."

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