Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.068 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.

Puppy and I

by A. A. Milne

0.7479 − 0.2903i

Drawing the boundary…

Róisín Dubh

by Nora Hopper Chesson

0.7966 − 0.3381i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Puppy and I

by A. A. Milne

I met a man as I went walking;
We got talking,
Man and I.
"Where are you going to, Man?" I said
(I said to the Man as he went by).
"Down to the village, to get some bread.
Will you come with me?" "No, not I."

I met a Horse as I went walking;
We got talking,
Horse and I.
"Where are you going to, Horse, to-day?"
(I said to the Horse as he went by).
"Down to the village to get some hay.
Will you come with me?" "No, not I."

I met a Woman as I went walking;
We got talking,
Woman and I.
"Where are you going to, Woman, so early?"
(I said to the Woman as she went by).
"Down to the village to get some barley.
Will you come with me?" "No, not I."

I met some Rabbits as I went walking;
We got talking,
Rabbits and I.
"Where are you going in your brown fur coats?"
(I said to the Rabbits as they went by).
"Down to the village to get some oats.
Will you come with us?" "No, not I."

I met a Puppy as I went walking;
We got talking,
Puppy and I.
"Where are you going this nice fine day?"
(I said to the Puppy as he went by).
"Up in the hills to roll and play."
"I'll come with you, Puppy," said I.

Róisín Dubh

by Nora Hopper Chesson

Everyone knows that a rose will fade, 
(Sure I knew, too!) 
So why would I be a whit dismayed 
When you died, Róisín Dubh? 
For a day and a night and a morrow 
The bloom of you — 
Then death: and what use of sorrow 
For a rose, Róisín Dubh? 

Yet, little black rose, so dear you were, 
So sweet you grew, 
And your stem is sad now you are not there, 
And your leaves, Róisín Dubh! 
O little black rose, my soul I'd give, 
(My body, too!) 
For a day, for an hour, that you might live 
On your bush, Róisín Dubh! 

Sweet, sweet, till the world was glad for you, 
And kinder, too — 
Now your bush and your world are sad for you, 
Róisín Dubh! 

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