Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.024 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.

June

by Nora Hopper Chesson

−0.4519 + 0.1005i

Drawing the boundary…

The Dead Beggar

by Charlotte Smith

−0.4464 + 0.0772i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

June

by Nora Hopper Chesson

Dark red roses in a honeyed wind swinging,
Silk-soft hollyhock, coloured like the moon; 
Larks high overhead lost in light, and singing; 
That's the way of June. 

Dark red roses in the warm wind falling,
Velvet leaf by velvet leaf, all the breathless noon; 
Far-off sea-waves calling, calling, calling; 
That's the way of June. 

Sweet as scarlet strawberry under wet leaves hidden, 
Honeyed as the damask rose, lavish as the moon, 
Shedding lovely light on things forgotten, hope forbidden — 
That's the way of June. 

The Dead Beggar

by Charlotte Smith

Swells then thy feeling heart, and streams thine eye
O'er the deserted being, poor and old,
Whom cold, reluctant, parish charity
Consigns to mingle with his kindred mould?

Mourn'st thou, that here the time-worn sufferer ends
Those evil days still threatening woes to come;
Here, where the friendless feel no want of friends,
Where even the houseless wanderer finds a home!

What though no kindred crowd in sable forth,
And sigh, or seem to sigh, around his bier;
Though o'er his coffin with the humid earth
No children drop the unavailing tear?

Rather rejoice that here his sorrows cease,
Whom sickness, age, and poverty oppress'd;
Where death, the leveller, restores to peace
The wretch who living knew not where to rest.

Rejoice, that though an outcast spurn'd by fate,
Through penury's rugged path his race he ran;
In earth's cold bosom, equall'd with the great,
Death vindicates the insulted rights of man.

Rejoice, that though severe his earthly doom,
And rude, and sown with thorns the way he trod,
Now, (where unfeeling fortune cannot come)
He rests upon the mercies of his God.

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