Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.033 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…

The Shortness of Life

by Francis Quarles

0.2053 − 0.1028i

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? 

The Shortness of Life

by Francis Quarles

And what's a life? A weary pilgrimage,
Whose glory in one day doth fill the stage
With childhood, manhood, and decrepit age.

And what's a life? The flourishing array
Of the proud summer-meadow, which to-day
Wears her green plush, and is to-morrow hay.

Read on this dial, how the shades devour
My short-lived winter's day! hour eats up the hour;
Alas! the total's but from eight to four.

Behold these lilies, which Thy hands have made
Fair copies of my life, and open laid
To view, how soon they droop, how soon they fade!

Shade not that dial, night will blind too soon;
My nonaged day already points to noon;
How simple is my suit! how small my boon!

Nor do I beg this slender inch to wile
The time away, or falsely to beguile
My thoughts with joy: here's nothing worth a smile.

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