Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.043 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.

On My Birthday, July 21

by Matthew Prior

0.1233 − 0.1936i

Drawing the boundary…

Love in September

by Nora Hopper Chesson

0.0985 − 0.2284i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

On My Birthday, July 21

by Matthew Prior

I, my dear, was born to-day—
So all my jolly comrades say:
They bring me music, wreaths, and mirth,
And ask to celebrate my birth:
Little, alas! my comrades know
That I was born to pain and woe;
To thy denial, to thy scorn,
Better I had ne'er been born:
I wish to die, even whilst I say—
'I, my dear, was born to-day.'

I, my dear, was born to-day:
Shall I salute the rising ray,
Well-spring of all my joy and woe?
Clotilda, thou alone dost know.
Shall the wreath surround my hair?
Or shall the music please my ear?
Shall I my comrades' mirth receive,
And bless my birth, and wish to live?
Then let me see great Venus chase
Imperious anger from thy face;
Then let me hear thee smiling say—
'Thou, my dear, wert born to-day.'

Love in September

by Nora Hopper Chesson

The garden lay about us twain 
Hoarding its sweets up for the rain; 
We clung together, you and I, 
And heard the minutes hurrying by. 
Heart against heart beat heavily, 
Your eyes through twilight sought for mine, 
My lips drank love from yours like wine. 

Our lips together met and clung — 
Our love stood beautiful and young 
And watched us while the minutes spun 
Webs of delight not yet undone, 
While our lips, kissing, would not part; 
While all the night beat like a heart 
Fuller of fire than any sun; 
And one great star and only one 
Above us for a lantern hung. 

My hand in yours so closely lay, 
I felt your pulse beat like my own; 
I breathed your breath, and in my brain 
The seed of your own thought was sown. 
The garden walls seemed far away,
The scent of flowering mint was blown 
About us in the gloaming gray, 
About us as our lips clung close 
As flash and peal, as bee and rose. 

But flash and peal and cloud were not. 
Twilight and scent for us begot 
Delicate dreams, and for our sake 
No bat, or buzzing chafer came 
The happy silences to break.
We kissed, and to the lighted room 
Came, carrying with us like perfume 
As lovely as the rose's name, 
The memory of the twilight sweet 
In shining eyes and laggard feet.

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