Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.029 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.

I said, seeing how the winter gale increased

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

−0.1460 + 0.7361i

Drawing the boundary…

The Outlaw Of Loch Lene

by Jeremiah Joseph Callanan

−0.1480 + 0.7649i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

I said, seeing how the winter gale increased

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I said, seeing how the winter gale increased,
Even as waxed within us and grew strong
The ancient tempest of desire, “At least,
It is the season when the nights are long.
Well flown, well shattered from the summer hedge
The early sparrow and the opening flowers!—
Late climbs the sun above the southerly edge
These days, and sweet to love those added hours.”
Alas, already does the dark recede,
And visible are the trees against the snow.
Oh, monstrous parting, oh, perfidious deed,
How shall I leave your side, how shall I go? . . .
Unnatural night, the shortest of the year,
Farewell! ’Tis dawn. The longest day is here.

 

The Outlaw Of Loch Lene

by Jeremiah Joseph Callanan

O many a day have I made good ale in the glen,
That came not of stream or malt, like the brewing of men:
My bed was the ground; my roof, the green-wood above;
And the wealth that I sought, one far kind glance from my Love.

Alas! on that night when the horses I drove from the field,
That I was not near from terror my angel to shield!
She stretch'd forth her arms; her mantle she flung to the wind,
And swam o'er Loch Lene, her outlaw'd lover to find.

O would that a freezing sleet-wing'd tempest did sweep,
And I and my love were alone, far off on the deep;
I'd ask not a ship, or a bark, or a pinnace, to save—
With her hand round my waist, I'd fear not the wind or the wave.

'Tis down by the lake where the wild tree fringes its sides,
The maid of my heart, my fair one of Heaven resides:
I think, as at eve she wanders its mazes among,
The birds go to sleep by the sweet wild twist of her song.

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