Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.082 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.

Work Without Hope

by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

−0.1579 + 0.8486i

Drawing the boundary…

The Methodist

by Thomas Chatterton

−0.0762 + 0.8425i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Work Without Hope

by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair—
The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing—
And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And Hope without an object cannot live.

The Methodist

by Thomas Chatterton

Says Tom to Jack, 'Tis very odd,
These representatives of God,
In colour, way of life, and evil,
Should be so very like the devil'.
Jack, understand, was one of those 
Who mould religion in the nose,
A red-hot Methodist; his face 
Was full of puritanic grace,
His loose lank hair, his slow gradation, 
Declared a late regeneration;
Among the daughters long renowned.
For standing upon holy ground;
Never in carnal battle beat,
Though sometimes forced to a retreat.
But Catcott, hero as he is,
Knight of incomparable phiz,
When pliant doxy seems to yield, 
Courageously forsakes the field.
Jack, or to write more gravely, John, 
Through hills of Wesley's works had gone; 
Could sing one hundred hymns by rote, 
Hymns which will sanctify the throat:
But some indeed composed so oddly,
You’d swear 'twas bawdy songs made godly.

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