Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.030 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.

A Song of Age

by Aubrey Thomas de Vere

−0.3904 − 0.1183i

Drawing the boundary…

The Lords of Land and Money

by Gerald Massey

−0.3926 − 0.0887i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

A Song of Age

by Aubrey Thomas de Vere

Who mourns? Flow on, delicious breeze!
Who mourns though youth and strength go by?
Fresh leaves invest the vernal trees,
Fresh airs will drown my latest sigh:
This frame is but a part outworn
Of earth's great whole that lifts more high
A tempest-freshened brow each morn
To meet pure beams and azure sky.

Thou world-renewing breath, sweep on,
And waft earth's sweetness o'er the wave!
That earth will circle round the sun
When God takes back the life He gave!
To each his turn! Even now I feel
The feet of children press my grave,
And one deep whisper o'er it steal—
"The soul is His who died to save."

The Lords of Land and Money

by Gerald Massey

Sons of Old England, from the sod,
Uplift the noble brow!
Gold apes a mightier power than God,
And wealth is worshipt now!
In all these toil-ennobled lands
Ye have no heritage:
They snatch the fruit of youthful hands,
The staff from weary age.
O tell them in their Palaces,
These Lords of Land and Money!
They shall not kill the poor like bees,
To rob them of Life's honey.

Thro' long dark years of blood and tears,
We've toil'd like branded slaves,
Till Wrong's red hand hath made a land
Of paupers, prisons, graves!
But our long-sufferance endeth now,
Within the souls of men
The fruitful buds of promise blow,
And Freedom lives again!
O tell them in their Palaces,
These Lords of Land and Money!
They shall not kill the poor like bees,
To rob them of Life's honey.

Too long have Labor's nobles knelt
Before exalted "Rank;"
Within our souls the iron is felt—
We hear our fetters clank!
A glorious voice goes throbbing forth
From millions stirring now,
Who yet before these Gods of earth
Shall stand with unblencht brow.
O tell them in their Palaces,
These Lords of Land and Money!
They shall not kill the poor like bees,
To rob them of Life's honey.

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