Poem fractal

Side by side

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0.035 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.

When we that wore the myrtle wear the dust

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

−0.2261 + 0.7035i

Drawing the boundary…

Napoleon's Farewell

by Lord Byron

−0.2568 + 0.7210i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

When we that wore the myrtle wear the dust

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

When we that wore the myrtle wear the dust,
And years of darkness cover up our eyes,
And all our arrogant laughter and sweet lust
Keep counsel with the scruples of the wise;
When boys and girls that now are in the loins
Of croaking lads, dip oar into the sea,—
And who are these that dive for copper coins?
No longer we, my love, no longer we—
Then let the fortunate breathers of the air,
When we lie speechless in the muffling mould,
Tease not our ghosts with slander, pause not there
To say that love is false and soon grows cold,
But pass in silence the mute grave of two
Who lived and died believing love was true.

 

Napoleon's Farewell

by Lord Byron

Farewell to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory 
Arose and o'ershadow'd the earth with her name — 
She abandons me now — but the page of her story, 
The brightest or blackest, is filled with my fame. 
I have warr'd with a world which vanquish'd me only 
When the meteor of conquest allured me too far; 
I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely, 
The last single Captive to millions in war. 

Farewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crown'd me, 
I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth, — 
But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee, 
Decay'd in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth. 
Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted 
In strife with the storm, when their battles were won — 
Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted. 
Had still soar'd with eyes fix'd on victory's sun! 

Farewell to thee, France! — but when Liberty rallies 
Once more in thy regions, remember me then. 
The violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys; 
Though wither'd, thy tear will unfold it again. 
Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us, 
And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice — 
There are links which must break in the chain that has bound us, 
Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice! 

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