Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.015 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 Solitary Reaper

by William Wordsworth

−0.2300 − 0.4597i

Drawing the boundary…

Shame

by Nora Hopper Chesson

−0.2403 − 0.4493i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Solitary Reaper

by William Wordsworth

Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts, and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

No Nightingale did ever chaunt
So sweetly to reposing bands 
Of Travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian Sands:
No sweeter voice was ever heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago: 
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of today?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again!

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sung
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;
I listen'd till I had my fill;
And, as I mounted up the hill, 
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.

Shame

by Nora Hopper Chesson

"I love thee so, I love thee so, 
I will not ever let thee go," 
Shame said, and kissed me tenderly; 
"I will be to thee for thy wife,
And all the nights and days of life 
Shall find me faithful unto thee. 

"The vine and peaches thou dost set 
Shall bear my mark, lest thou forget. 
The labour of thy weary hands 
We two will eat; we two will drink 
Life's cup, and, when thy soul-fires sink, 
I'll blow flame up into the brands.

"Hate me or love me: I am thine,
My tears are in thy cup for wine,
My laughter is thy musicking; 
No strength in fennel shalt thou find 
To put my weakness from thy mind, 
To loosen these my hands that cling. 

"I love thee so, my mate, my mate,
That when thy hearers for thee wait, 
I will not wholly let thee go: 
But I will plant above thy sleep 
Rowers that shall my memory keep 
When thou art earth in earth below." 

—
—
0:00
0:00
Track 1
Skip to main content