Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.033 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.

Breake of Day

by John Donne

0.0018 − 0.0079i

Drawing the boundary…

Guinevere

by Nora Hopper Chesson

−0.0127 − 0.0371i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Breake of Day

by John Donne

'Tis true, 'tis day; what though it be?
O wilt thou therefore rise from me?
Why should we rise, because 'tis light?
Did we lie downe, because 'twas night?
Love which in spight of darknesse brought us hether, 
Should in despight of light keepe us together.

Light hath no tongue, but is all eye;
If it could speake as well as spie,
This were the worst, that it could say,
That being well, I faine would stay, 
And that I lov'd my heart and honor so,
That I would not from him, that had them, goe.

Must businesse thee from hence remove?
Oh, that's the worst disease of love,
The poore, the foule, the false, love can 
Admit, but not the busied man.
He which hath businesse, and makes love, doth doe
Such wrong, as when a maryed man doth wooe.

Guinevere

by Nora Hopper Chesson

Amid the blossoms of the whitethorn wood, 
Flower of all flowers, in Arthur's dream she stood, 
No lily, but a rose of womanhood. 

Gold veil blown backward from her golden hair, 
Green-clad like young leaves in the April air: 
Too fair the dream is, Arthur: deadly fair! 

Yet thou shalt have the rose awhile to hold, 
But for its sweetness' sake thy hearth grows cold — 
Thy sword is rusted all for hair of gold! 

How should he dream of sorrow, shame, or fear, 
So loud the birds sang round the magic mere 
Whose lightest ripple whispered "Guinevere!" 

How should he dream of grief who dreams of love? 
Or guess how sore the cage shall fret his dove 
When she grows weary of the gold thereof? 

Dream: it is good to dream when day is young — 
Thy Queen shall dream another wood among 
When love has loosed the bonds on Lancelot's tongue. 

Dream: as in Avalon (if oaths hold good) 
To-day thou dreamest of her as she stood 
Among the blossoms of the whitethorn wood. 

Dream: I, too, dream who saw but yesterday 
Queen Guinevere among the blossomed may, 
A rose, a rose that shall not fade away. 

Not fade, nor fail, but quicken still men's blood 
In an uncourtly age, a lighter mood — 
A rose that blossoms in a whitethorn wood. 

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