Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.001 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.

Caller Herrin'

by Lady Nairne

−0.2582 − 0.5464i

Drawing the boundary…

The Witches' Wood

by Mary Coleridge

−0.2587 − 0.5461i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Caller Herrin'

by Lady Nairne

Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
Wha'll buy my caller herrin',
New drawn frae the Forth?

When ye were sleepin' on your pillows,
Dream'd ye aught o' our puir fellows,
Darkling as they faced the billows,
A' to fill the woven willows?
Buy my caller herrin',
New drawn frae the Forth.

Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
They're no brought here without brave daring;
Buy my caller herrin',
Haul'd through wind and rain.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? &c.

Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
Oh, ye may ca' them vulgar farin',
Wives and mithers maist despairing,
Ca' them lives o' men.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? &c.

When the creel o' herrin' passes,
Ladies, clad in silks and laces,
Gather in their braw pelisses,
Cast their heads and screw their faces.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? &c.

Caller herrin's no got lightlie,
Ye can trip the spring fu' tightlie,
Spite o' tauntin', flauntin,' flingin',
Gow has set you a' a-singing.'
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? &c.

Neebour wives, now tent my tellin':
When the bonny fish ye're sellin',
At ae word be in yere dealin'—
Truth will stand when a' thing's failin'.

Wha'll buy my caller herrin':
They're bonnie fish and halesome farin':
Wha'll buy my caller herrin',
New drawn frae the Forth?

The Witches' Wood

by Mary Coleridge

There was a wood, a witches' wood,
All the trees therein were pale.
They bore no branches green and good,
But as it were a gray nun's veil.

They talked and chattered in the wind
From morning dawn to set of sun,
Like men and women that have sinned,
Whose thousand evil tongues are one.

Their roots were like the hands of men,
Grown hard and brown with clutching gold.
Their foliage women's tresses when
The hair is withered, thin, and old.

There never did a sweet bird sing
For happy love about his nest.
The clustered bats on evil wing
Each hollow trunk and bough possessed.

And in the midst a pool there lay
Of water white, as tho' a scare
Had frightened off the eye of day
And kept the Moon reflected there.

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