Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.009 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.

The Stream of Life

by Arthur Hugh Clough

−0.3388 − 0.7914i

Drawing the boundary…

Now once a young man courted me

by Isobel Pagan

−0.3370 − 0.8001i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Stream of Life

by Arthur Hugh Clough

O stream descending to the sea,
Thy mossy banks between,
The flow’rets blow, the grasses grow,
The leafy trees are green.

In garden plots the children play,
The fields the labourers till,
And houses stand on either hand,
And thou descendest still.

O life descending into death,
Our waking eyes behold,
Parent and friend thy lapse attend,
Companions young and old.

Strong purposes our mind possess,
Our hearts affections fill,
We toil and earn, we seek and learn,
And thou descendest still.

O end to which our currents tend,
Inevitable sea,
To which we flow, what do we know,
What shall we guess of thee?

A roar we hear upon thy shore,
As we our course fulfil;
Scarce we divine a sun will shine
And be above us still.

Now once a young man courted me

by Isobel Pagan

Now once a young man courted me,
And wan my tender heart, O,
Now he is gone to serve the king,
Woes me that we must part, O.

O the wars, the cruel wars,
Has left me here a mourning,
Has taken my bonny English lad,
Small hope of his returning.

A serjeant unto Muirkirk came,
And tempt'd him with much money,
And he was swear't to let him gang,
He handsome was and bonny.

O the wars, the cruel wars,
Has left me here a mourning,
Has taken my bonny English lad,
Small hope of his returning.

His face was fair, his humour free,
With modest kind discretion,
Great honesty experienc'd he,
As many in the nation.

O the wars, the cruel wars,
Has left me here a mourning,
Has taken my bonny English lad,
Small hope of his returning.

The forge hammer lies by for him,
Alas! now his room is empty,
And he must learn a soldier's reel,
To hear their drums they tempt ay.

O the wars, the cruel wars,
Has left me here a mourning,
Has taken my bonny English lad,
Small hope of his returning.

At night when I should take my rest,
Mine eye's debar'd from sleeping,
To think on him that I love best,
That has my heart a-keeping.

O the wars, the cruel wars,
Has left me here a mourning,
Has taken my bonny English lad,
Small hope of his returning.

May Providence preserve him still,
Tho' he be turn'd a rover,
And left me sore against my will,
A poor unhappy lover.

O the wars, the cruel wars,
Has left me here a mourning,
Has taken my bonny English lad,
Small hope of his returning.

But Providence grant the wars may cease,
That I once more may see him,
Their blackguard tongues is ill to bear,
I wish I had gone with him.

O the wars, the cruel wars,
Has left me here a mourning,
Has taken my bonny English lad,
Small hope of his returning.

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