Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.030 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.

Music's Power

by Caroline Elizabeth Sheridan

−0.0070 + 0.1639i

Drawing the boundary…

Vanitas Vanitatum

by John Webster

−0.0361 + 0.1688i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Music's Power

by Caroline Elizabeth Sheridan

Have you never heard, in music’s sound,
Some chords which o’er your heart
First fling a moment’s magic round,
Then silently depart?
But with the echo on the air,
Roused by that simple lay,
It leaves a world of feeling there
We cannot chase away.
Yes, yes, — a sound hath power to bid them come —
Youth’s half-forgotten hopes, childhood’s remembered home.

When sitting in your silent home
You gaze around and weep,
Or call to those who cannot come
Nor wake from dreamless sleep;
Those chords, as oft as you bemoan
"The distant and the dead,"
Bring dimly back the fancied tone
Of some sweet voice that’s fled!
Yes, yes, — a sound hath power to bid them come —
Youth’s half-forgotten hopes, childhood’s remembered home.

And when, amid the festal throng,
You are, or would be gay —
And seek to while, with dance and song,
Your sadder thoughts away;
They strike those chords and smiles depart,
As, rushing o’er your soul,
The untold feelings of the heart
Awake, and spurn control!
Yes, yes, — a sound hath power to bid them come —
Youth’s half-forgotten hopes, childhood’s remembered home.

Vanitas Vanitatum

by John Webster

All the flowers of the spring
Meet to perfume our burying;
These have but their growing prime,
And man does flourish but his time:
Survey our progress from our birth—
We are set, we grow, we turn to earth.
Courts adieu, and all delights,
All bewitching appetites!
Sweetest breath and clearest eye
Like perfumes go out and die;
And consequently this is done
As shadows wait upon the sun.
Vain the ambition of kings
Who seek by trophies and dead things
To leave a living name behind,
And weave but nets to catch the wind.

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