Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.019 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 Woman in the Shadow

by Nora Hopper Chesson

−0.4498 + 0.4237i

Drawing the boundary…

Love

by Humbert Wolfe

−0.4557 + 0.4415i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Woman in the Shadow

by Nora Hopper Chesson

"Sweet, sweet, sweet," says the greenfinch in the meadow, 
"Sweet" sings the willow-wren as he seeks his mate; 
"Sweet, sweet, sweet," but the woman in the shadow 
Whispers "Wait!" 

"Sweet, sweet, sweet!" cries the south wind at his fleetest, 
Bending down the buttercups in their golden state — 
"Sweet!" but a softer voice than his at sweetest, 
Answers "Wait." 

The bleak wind, the north wind has breathed on the lilies. 
Harried is the wren's nest, wounded goes his mate, 
Where we dreamed of Love himself a veiled shape still is. 
But she's Fate. 

Where's the use of keening? what help in weeping 
When the fair thing, the rare thing lies coffined at our feet. 
But the woman in the shadow from the other side of sleeping 
Whispers "Sweet!" 

Love

by Humbert Wolfe

I will tell you what love is: Love is the broken
sound in the night of feet that pass. Unwoken,
the lover stirs in his sleep, and, while he stirs,
a foot has gone past in the night as light as hers.

I will tell you what love is: Love is the proud
mouth that was shut in marble, and the loud
songs of the world are sung on lips all warm,
but these cold lips sing not, and have worked such harm.

I will tell you what love does: Man builds a greater
city than Babylon with gardens, and love, turned traitor,
sells the high town to the dream's eternal foeman,
that comes with the false sweet key, by night, of a woman.

I will tell you how love ends: Without a sound
love stabs in the dark of the heart, and leaves no wound.
And what was a man goes slowly, listening
for a tune played on a harp, but it has no string.

I will tell you all these things, and when they are told,
I shall remember the austere head of gold,
his slender motionless grace, and how he stands
looking with happy wonder at the cowslips in his hands.

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