Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.021 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.

Soft be the voice

by Sir Henry Taylor

−0.3924 − 0.4385i

Drawing the boundary…

Flow, my tears

by John Dowland

−0.4128 − 0.4432i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Soft be the voice

by Sir Henry Taylor

Soft be the voice and friendly that rebukes
The error of thy way,
For sickness hath the summer of thy looks
Touched with decay.

Now may be pardoned, even for virtue's sake,
Words of less gall than grief—
The warning of autumnal winds that shake
The yellowing leaf.

They bid thee if thou leav'st thy bloom behind,
Bethink thee to repair
That ravage, and the aspect of thy mind
To make more fair.

Let not thy loss of brightness be a loss,
Which might be countless gain,
If from thy beauty it should purge the dross,
Eat out the stain.

Then beauty with pure purposes allied
Wouldst thou account—to lift
The minds of men from worldliness and pride—
A trust—not gift.

Oh! may thy sickness, sanative to thee,
Bring thee to know that trust!
That so thy soul may to thy beauty be
Not less than just.

Flow, my tears

by John Dowland

Flow, my tears, fall from your springs;
Exiled forever, let me mourn,
Where night’s black bird her sad infamy sings,
There let me live forlorn.

Down, vain lights, shine you no more;
No nights are dark enough for those
That in despair their lost fortunes deplore,
Light doth but shame disclose.

Never may my woes be relieved,
Since pity is fled,
And tears, and sighs, and groans my weary days
Of all joys have deprived.

From the highest spire of contentment,
My fortune is thrown,
And fear, and grief, and pain for my deserts
Are my hopes, since hope is gone.

Hark, you shadows that in darkness dwell,
Learn to contemn light:
Happy, happy they that in hell
Feel not the world’s despite.

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