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.

Lochleven No More

by Michael Bruce

−0.1637 + 0.2611i

Drawing the boundary…

The Moth

by Nora Hopper Chesson

−0.1598 + 0.2359i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Lochleven No More

by Michael Bruce

Farewell to Lochleven and Gairny's fair stream,
How sweet, on its banks, of my Peggy to dream;
But now I must go to a far distant shore,
And I'll may-be return to Lochleven no more.

No more in the Spring shall I walk with my dear,
Where gowans bloom bonny, and Gairny runs clear;
Far hence must I wander, my pleasures are o'er,
Since I'll see my dear maid and Lochleven no more.

No more do I sing, since far from my delight,
But in sighs spend the day, and in tears the long night;
By Devon's dull current stretch'd mourning I'll lie,
While the hills and the woods to my mourning reply.

But wherever I wander, by night or by day,
True love to my Peggy still with me shall stay;
And ever and aye my loss I'll deplore,
Till the woodlands re-echo Lochleven no more.

Though from her far distant, to her I'll be true,
And still my fond heart keep her image in view:
O could I obtain her, my griefs were all o'er,
I would mourn the dear maid and Lochleven no more.

But if Fate has decreed that it ne'er shall be so,
Then grief shall attend me wherever I go;
Till from life's stormy sea I reach death's silent shore,
Then I'll think upon her and Lochleven no more.

The Moth

by Nora Hopper Chesson

Let the white moth go by,
Because some wandering spirit it may be 
That loves the kindly earth so close and dear,
It cannot break the bonds that keep it here. 
The day's for us and all the daylight cheer; 
Twilight's for delicate things more glad than we. 
Moths have their right as well as birds to fly; 
Let the white moth go by. 

Let the white moth go by: 
It has a mate whose wings shine silverly 
Somewhere beneath the moonlight, calling it 
To join its airy dances, and to knit 
Two joys in one, for very full must be 
The little lives that two suns cannot see — 
Because we love our childhood, you and I, 
And would not let one delicate memory die, 
And know our kinship to all lives that are, 
To every dewdrop and each falling star — 
Let the white moth go by. 

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