Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.025 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.

The Mad Maid's Song

by Robert Herrick

0.1193 − 0.6643i

Drawing the boundary…

A Wild Rose

by Alfred Austin

0.1354 − 0.6834i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Mad Maid's Song

by Robert Herrick

Good morrow to the day so fair;
Good morning, sir, to you;
Good morrow to mine own torn hair,
Bedabbled with the dew.

Good morning to this primrose too;
Good morrow to each maid;
That will with flowers the tomb bestrew
Wherein my Love is laid.

Ah!  woe is me, woe, woe is me,
Alack and well-a-day!
For pity, sir, find out that bee,
Which bore my Love away.

I'll seek him in your bonnet brave;
I'll seek him in your eyes;
Nay, now I think they've made his grave
I' th' bed of strawberries.

I'll seek him there; I know, ere this,
The cold, cold earth doth shake him;
But I will go, or send a kiss
By you, sir, to awake him.

Pray hurt him not; though he be dead,
He knows well who do love him;
And who with green turfs rear his head,
And who do rudely move him.

He's soft and tender, pray take heed,
With bands of cowslips bind him,
And bring him home;—but 'tis decreed
That I shall never find him.

A Wild Rose

by Alfred Austin

The first wild rose in wayside hedge, 
This year I wandering see, 
I pluck, and send it as a pledge, 
My own Wild Rose, to Thee. 

For when my gaze first met thy gaze, 
We were knee-deep in June: 
The nights were only dreamier days, 
And all the hours in tune. 

I found thee, like the eglantine, 
Sweet, simple, and apart; 
And, from that hour, thy smile hath been 
The flower that scents my heart. 

And, ever since, when tendrils grace 
Young copse or weathered bole 
With rosebuds, straight I see thy face, 
And gaze into thy soul. 

A natural bud of love Thou art, 
Where, gazing down, I view, 
Deep hidden in thy fragrant heart, 
A drop of heavenly dew. 

Go, wild rose, to my Wild Rose dear; 
Bid her come swift and soon. 
O would that She were always here! 
It then were always June. 

—
—
0:00
0:00
Track 1
Skip to main content