Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.022 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.

Ears in the turrets hear

by Dylan Thomas

−0.1837 − 0.8007i

Drawing the boundary…

The Match

by Andrew Marvell

−0.2058 − 0.8021i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Ears in the turrets hear

by Dylan Thomas

Ears in the turrets hear
Hands grumble on the door,
Eyes in the gables see
The fingers at the locks.
Shall I unbolt or stay
Alone till the day I die
Unseen by stranger-eyes
In this white house?
Hands, hold you poison or grapes?

Beyond this island bound
By a thin sea of flesh
And a bone coast,
The land lies out of sound
And the hills out of mind.
No birds or flying fish
Disturbs this island’s rest.

Ears in this island hear
The wind pass like a fire,
Eyes in this island see
Ships anchor off the bay.
Shall I run to the ships
With the wind in my hair,
Or stay till the day I die
And welcome no sailor?
Ships, hold you poison or grapes?

Hands grumble on the door,
Ships anchor off the bay,
Rain beats the sand and slates.
Shall I let in the stranger,
Shall I welcome the sailor,
Or stay till the day I die?

Hands of the stranger and holds of the ships,
Hold you poison or grapes?

The Match

by Andrew Marvell

Nature had long a treasure made,
Of all her choicest store,
Fearing, when she should be decayed,
To beg in vain for more.

Her orientest colours there,
And essences most pure,
With sweetest perfumes hoarded were,
All, as she thought, secure,

She seldom them unlocked or used
But with the nicest care;
For, with one grain of them diffused,
She could the world repair.

But likeness soon together drew,
What she did separate lay;
Of which one perfect beauty grew,
And that was Celia.

Love wisely had of long foreseen
That he must once grow old,
And therefore stored a magazine
To save him from the cold.

He kept the several cells replete
With nitre thrice refined,
The naphtha’s and the sulphur’s heat,
And all that burns the mind.

He fortified the double gate,
And rarely thither came;
For, with one spark of these, he straight
All nature could inflame.

Till, by vicinity so long,
A nearer way they sought,
And, grown magnetically strong,
Into each other wrought.

Thus all his fuel did unite
To make one fire high:
None ever burned so hot, so bright:
And, Celia, that am I.

So we alone the happy rest,
Whilst all the world is poor,
And have within ourselves possessed
All love's and nature’s store.

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