Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.005 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.

Nocturne

by Arthur Symons

−0.0926 − 0.0956i

Drawing the boundary…

The Cypress

by Arthur O'Shaughnessy

−0.0911 − 0.1006i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Nocturne

by Arthur Symons

One little cab to hold us two,
Night, an invisible dome of cloud,
The rattling wheels that made our whispers loud,
As heart-beats into whispers grew;
And, long, the Embankment with its lights,
The pavement glittering with fallen rain,
The magic and the mystery that are night’s,
And human love without the pain.

The river shook with wavering gleams,
Deep buried as the glooms that lay
Impenetrable as the grave of day,
Near and as distant as our dreams.
A bright train flashed with all its squares
Of warm light where the bridge lay mistily.
The night was all about us: we were free,
Free of the day and all its cares!

That was an hour of bliss too long,
Too long to last where joy is brief.
Yet one escape of souls may yield relief
To many weary seasons’ wrong.
“O last for ever!” my heart cried;
It ended: heaven was done.
I had been dreaming by her side
That heaven was but begun.

The Cypress

by Arthur O'Shaughnessy

O Ivory bird, that shakest thy wan plumes, 
And dost forget the sweetness of thy throat 
For a most strange and melancholy note—
That wilt forsake the summer and the blooms 
And go to winter in a place remote!

The country where thou goest, Ivory bird!
It hath no pleasant nesting-place for thee; 
There are no skies nor flowers fair to see, 
Nor any shade at noon—as I have heard — 
But the black shadow of the Cypress tree.

The Cypress tree, it groweth on a mound; 
And sickly are the flowers it hath of May, 
Full of a false and subtle spell are they;
For whoso breathes the scent of them around, 
He shall not see the happy Summer day.

In June, it bringeth forth, O Ivory bird!
A winter berry, bitter as the sea; 
And whoso eateth of it, woe is he —
He shall fall pale, and sleep—as I have heard — 
Long in the shadow of the Cypress tree.

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