Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.018 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.

When Poor in All but Hope and Love

by Caroline Elizabeth Sheridan

0.1869 − 0.1301i

Drawing the boundary…

A Red Flower

by Claude McKay

0.1871 − 0.1123i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

When Poor in All but Hope and Love

by Caroline Elizabeth Sheridan

When, poor in all but hope and love,
I clasped thee to my faithful heart;
For wealth and fame I vowed to rove,
That we might meet no more to part!
Years have gone by — long weary years
Of toil, to win thee comfort now —
Of ardent hopes — of sickening fears —
And wealth is mine — but where art thou?

Fame’s dazzling dreams, for thy dear sake,
Those brighter than before to me;
I clung to all I deemed could make
My burning heart more worthy thee.
Years have gone by — the laurel droops
In mockery o’er my joyless brow:
A conquered world before me stoops,
And Fame is mine — but where art thou?

In life’s first hours, despised and lone,
I wandered through the busy crowd;
But now that life’s best hopes are gone,
They greet with pride and murmurs loud.
Oh! for thy voice! thy happy voice,
To breathe its laughing welcome now;
Wealth, fame, and all that should rejoice,
To me are vain — for where art thou? 

A Red Flower

by Claude McKay

Your lips are like a southern lily red,
Wet with soft rain-kisses of the night,
In which the brown bee buries deep its head,
When still the dawn's a silver sea of light.

Your lips betray the secret of your soul,
The dark delicious essence that is you,
A mystery of life, the flaming goal
I seek through mazy pathways strange and new.

Your lips are the red symbol of a dream.
What visions of warm lilies they impart,
That line the green bank of a fair blue stream,
With butterflies and bees close to each heart!

Brown bees that murmur sounds of music rare,
That softly fall upon the languorous breeze,
Wafting them gently on the quiet air
Among untended avenues of trees.

O were I hovering, a bee, to probe
Deep down within your scented heart, fair flower,
Enfolded by your soft vermilion robe,
Amorous of sweets, for but one perfect hour!

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