Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.034 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 Last Buccaneer

by Thomas Babington Macaulay

−0.2521 + 0.3036i

Drawing the boundary…

The First Kiss

by Philip Bourke Marston

−0.2368 + 0.3336i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Last Buccaneer

by Thomas Babington Macaulay

The winds were yelling, the waves were swelling,
The sky was black and drear,
When the crew with eyes of flame brought the ship without a name
Alongside the last Buccaneer.

"Whence flies your sloop full sail before so fierce a gale,
When all others drive bare on the seas?
Say, come ye from the shore of the holy Salvador,
Or the gulf of the rich Caribbees?"

"From a shore no search hath found, from a gulf no line can sound,
Without rudder or needle we steer;
Above, below, our bark, dies the sea-fowl and the shark,
As we fly by the last Buccaneer.

"To-night there shall be heard on the rocks of Cape de Verde,
A loud crash, and a louder roar;
And to-morrow shall the deep, with a heavy moaning, sweep
The corpses and wreck to the shore."

The stately ship of Clyde securely now may ride,
In the breath of the citron shades;
And Severn's towering mast securely now flies fast,
Through the sea of the balmy Trades.

From St. Jago's wealthy port, from Havannah's royal fort,
The seaman goes forth without fear;
For since that stormy night not a mortal hath had sight
Of the flag of the last Buccaneer.

The First Kiss

by Philip Bourke Marston

She sat where he had left her all alone, 
With head bent back, and eyes through love on flame; 
And neck half flushed with most delicious shame; 
With hair disordered, and with loosened zone, — 
She sat, and to herself made tender moan, 
As yet again in thought her lover came. 
And caught her by her hands and called her name. 
And sealed her body as her soul his own. 

The June, moon-stricken twilight, warm, and fair. 
Closed round her where she sat 'neath voiceless trees. 
Full of the wonder of triumphant prayer, 
And sense of unimagined ecstasies 
Which must be hers, she knows, yet knows not why; 
But feels thereof his kiss the prophecy. 

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