Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.015 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.

Captain Cook (To My Brother)

by Letitia Elizabeth Landon

−0.0205 + 0.8309i

Drawing the boundary…

The Place of Echoes

by Leonard Bacon

−0.0168 + 0.8167i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Captain Cook (To My Brother)

by Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Do you recall the fancies of many years ago,
When the pulse danced those light measure that again it cannot know!
Ah! We both of us are alter’d, and now we talk no more
Of all the old creations that haunted us of yore.

Then any favourite volume was a mine of long delight,
From whence we took our future, to fashion as we might,
We liv’d again its pages, we were its chiefs and kings,
As actual, but more pleasant, than what the day now brings.

It was an August evening, with sunset in the trees,
When home you brought his Voyages who found the Fair South Seas.
We read it till the sunset amid the boughs grew dim;
All other favourite heroes were nothing beside him.

For weeks he was our idol, we sail’d with him at sea,
And the pond amid the willows the ocean seem’d to be.
The water-lilies growing beneath the morning smile,
We called the South Sea islands, each flower a different isle.

No golden lot that fortune could draw for human life,
To us seemed like a sailor’s, mid the storm and strife.
Our talk was of fair vessels that swept before the breeze,
And new discover’d countries amid the Southern seas.

Within that lonely garden what happy hours went by,
While we fancied that around us spread foreign sea and sky.
Ah! the dreaming and the distant no longer haunt the mind;
We leave in leaving childhood, life’s fairy land behind.

There is not of that garden a single tree or flower;
They have plough’d its long green grasses and cut down the lime-tree bower,
Where are the Guelder roses, whose silver used to bring,
With the gold of the laburnums, their tribute to the Spring.

They have vanish’d with the childhood that with their treasures play’d;
The life that cometh after, dwells in a darker shade.
Yet the name of that sea-captain, it cannot but recall
How much we lov’d his dangers, and we mourn’d his fall.

The Place of Echoes

by Leonard Bacon

There's a name in the Bible (Anathoth, I thought,
But memory tricked me), which, interpreted,
Means 'place of Echoes.' There a tall crag wrought
Reverberation of the voice or tread.
And sound came back tenfold, then fell off, dwindling
Into tense silence, while some prophet dreamed
Of living chariot-wheels and huge eyes kindling
In Heaven over Israel redeemed.
The place of Echoes! How the tag takes the mind!
Every word we hear or utter, nothing more
Than echo — echo of no subtle kind.
It might not be unwisdom to explore
The place of Echoes where shades of sounds combine
In thoughts you and I think are yours and mine.

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