Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.026 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.

The Relapse

by Thomas Stanley

−0.0296 − 0.7050i

Drawing the boundary…

A Happy Vicar I Might Have Been

by George Orwell

−0.0060 − 0.6941i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Relapse

by Thomas Stanley

Oh turn away those cruel Eyes,
The stars of my undoing.
Or death in such a bright disguise,
May tempt a second wooing.

Punish their blindly impious Pride,
Who dare contemn thy glory;
It was my fall that deifi'd
Thy name, and seal'd thy Story.

Yet no new sufferings can prepare
A higher praise to crown thee;
Though my first death proclaim thee fair,
My second will unthrone thee.

Lovers will doubt thou canst entice
No other for thy fuel,
And if thou burn one Victime twice,
Both think thee poor and cruel.

A Happy Vicar I Might Have Been

by George Orwell

A happy vicar I might have been
Two hundred years ago
To preach upon eternal doom
And watch my walnuts grow;

But born, alas, in an evil time,
I missed that pleasant haven,
For the hair has grown on my upper lip
And the clergy are all clean-shaven.

And later still the times were good,
We were so easy to please,
We rocked our troubled thoughts to sleep
On the bosoms of the trees.

All ignorant we dared to own
The joys we now dissemble;
The greenfinch on the apple bough
Could make my enemies tremble.

But girl's bellies and apricots,
Roach in a shaded stream,
Horses, ducks in flight at dawn,
All these are a dream.

It is forbidden to dream again;
We maim our joys or hide them:
Horses are made of chromium steel
And little fat men shall ride them.

I am the worm who never turned,
The eunuch without a harem;
Between the priest and the commissar
I walk like Eugene Aram;

And the commissar is telling my fortune
While the radio plays,
But the priest has promised an Austin Seven,
For Duggie always pays.

I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls,
And woke to find it true;
I wasn't born for an age like this;
Was Smith? Was Jones? Were you?

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