Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.014 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.

Louisa

by William Wordsworth

−0.1880 − 0.4858i

Drawing the boundary…

The Monk

by E. Nesbit

−0.1789 − 0.4746i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Louisa

by William Wordsworth

I met Louisa in the shade;
And, having seen that lovely Maid,
Why should I fear to say
That, nymph-like, she is fleet and strong,
And down the rocks can leap along,
Like rivulets in May?

And she hath smiles to earth unknown;
Smiles, that with motion of their own
Do spread, and sink, and rise;
That come and go with endless play, 
And ever, as they pass away,
Are hidden in her eyes.

She loves her fire, her Cottage-home;
Yet o'er the moorland will she roam
In weather rough and bleak;
And when against the wind she strains,
Oh! might I kiss the mountain rains
That sparkle on her cheek.

Take all that's mine 'beneath the moon',
If I with her but half a noon 
May sit beneath the walls
Of some old cave, or mossy nook,
When up she winds along the brook,
To hunt the waterfalls.

The Monk

by E. Nesbit

When in my narrow cell I lie,
The long day's penance done at last,
I see the ghosts of days gone by,
And hear the voices of the past.

I see the blue-gray wood-smoke curled
From hearths where life has rhymed to love,
I see the kingdoms of the world—
The glory and the power thereof,

And cry, "Ah, vainly have I striven!"
And then a voice calls, soft and low:
"Thou gavest My Earth to win My Heaven;
But Heaven-on-Earth thou mayest not know!"

It is not for Thy Heaven, O Lord,
That I renounced Thy pleasant earth—
The ship, the furrow, and the sword—
The dreams of death, the dreams of birth!

Weary of vigil, fast, and prayer,
Weak in my hope and in my faith—
O Christ, for whom this cross I bear,
Meet me beside the gate of Death!

When the night comes, then let me rest
(O Christ, who sanctifiest pain!)
Falling asleep upon Thy breast,
And, if Thou wilt, wake never again!

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