Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.043 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 youthful faith hath fled

by John Gibson Lockhart

−0.0161 − 1.0653i

Drawing the boundary…

The Dead Man Walking

by Thomas Hardy

−0.0371 − 1.0278i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

When youthful faith hath fled

by John Gibson Lockhart

When youthful faith hath fled,
Of loving take thy leave;
Be constant to the dead—
The dead cannot deceive.

Sweet modest flowers of Spring,
How fleet your balmy day!
And Man's brief life can bring
No secondary May:

No earthly burst again
Of gladness out of gloom,
Fond hope and vision vain,
Ungrateful to the tomb.

But 'tis an old belief
That on some solemn shore
Beyond the sphere of grief
Dear friends shall meet once more:

Beyond the sphere of Time
And Sin and Fate's control,
Serene in endless prime
Of body and of soul.

That creed I fain would keep,
That hope I'll not forgo—
Eternal be the sleep
Unless to waken so!

The Dead Man Walking

by Thomas Hardy

They hail me as one living, 
But don't they know 
That I have died of late years, 
Untombed although? 

I am but a shape that stands here, 
A pulseless mould, 
A pale past picture, screening 
Ashes gone cold. 

Not at a minute's warning, 
Not in a loud hour, 
For me ceased Time's enchantments 
In hall and bower. 

There was no tragic transit, 
No catch of breath, 
When silent seasons inched me 
On to this death…. 

— A Troubadour-youth I rambled 
With Life for lyre, 
The beats of being raging 
In me like fire. 

But when I practised eyeing 
The goal of men, 
It iced me, and I perished 
A little then. 

When passed my friend, my kinsfolk, 
Through the Last Door, 
And left me standing bleakly, 
I died yet more; 

And when my Love's heart kindled 
In hate of me, 
Wherefore I knew not, died I 
One more degree. 

And if when I died fully 
I cannot say, 
And changed into the corpse-thing 
I am to-day; 

Yet is it that, though whiling 
The time somehow 
In walking, talking, smiling, 
I live not now.

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