Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.032 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.

Sonnet in Dialectic

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

0.0282 + 0.2185i

Drawing the boundary…

The Pilgrim of Love

by Amelia Alderson Opie

0.0284 + 0.1863i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Sonnet in Dialectic

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

And is indeed truth beauty?—at the cost
Of all else that we cared for, can this be?—
To see the coarse triumphant, and to see
Honour and pity ridiculed, and tossed
Upon a poked-at fire; all courage lost
Save what is whelped and fattened by decree
To move among the unsuspecting free
And trap the thoughtful, with their thoughts engrossed?

Drag yet that stream for Beauty, if you will;
And find her, if you can; finding her drowned
Will not dismay your ethics,—you will still
To one and all insist she has been found . . .
And haggard men will smile your praise, until,
Some day, they stumble on her burial-mound.

The Pilgrim of Love

by Amelia Alderson Opie

Orynthia, my beloved!
I call in vain!
Orynthia! Orynthia!
Echo hears and calls again.
A mimic voice repeats the name around!
And with Orynthia all the rocks re-sound!

A Hermit who dwells in these solitudes, cross'd me,
As way worn and faint up the mountain I press'd,
The aged man paus'd on his staff to accost me,
And proffer'd his cell, as my mansion of rest.
Ah! nay, courteous Father, right onward I rove;
No rest but the grave for the Pilgrim of Love!

'Yet tarry, my son, till the burning noon passes,
Let boughs of the Lemon tree shelter thy head;
The juice of ripe Muscadel flows in my glasses,
And rushes, fresh pull'd, for Siesta are spread!'
Ah! nay, courteous Father, right onward I rove,
No rest but the grave for the Pilgrim of Love!

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