Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.022 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.

A Sleep Song

by Nora Hopper Chesson

−0.1566 + 0.7442i

Drawing the boundary…

The Outlaw Of Loch Lene

by Jeremiah Joseph Callanan

−0.1480 + 0.7649i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

A Sleep Song

by Nora Hopper Chesson

O Sleep, go. Sleep, hasten to my lover, 
Leave my eyelids all forlorn of thy quiet breath; 
Where my love lies wakeful, go thou and lean over, 
Singing low, singing slow, dearest child of Death. 
Fair Sleep, rare Sleep, Death that is thy father, 
Night that is thy mother, both sow flowers for thee; 
White poppies dashed with dew, drowsy flowers to gather, 
Yellow rose that silence saith to the busiest bee. 

Hear, Sleep, dear Sleep, ere my song be ended — 
Gather me thy fairest flowers a soft dream to make 
For my love — a dream of scent and of music blended. 
Ay, and let me kiss the dream for the dreamer's sake. 
O Sleep, blow sleep-dust upon his pillow 
Till he dreams it is my breast, and to dream is fain; 
Let him think it is my hair, not thy branch of willow,
Dark against the little light through the rain-blurred pane. 

The Outlaw Of Loch Lene

by Jeremiah Joseph Callanan

O many a day have I made good ale in the glen,
That came not of stream or malt, like the brewing of men:
My bed was the ground; my roof, the green-wood above;
And the wealth that I sought, one far kind glance from my Love.

Alas! on that night when the horses I drove from the field,
That I was not near from terror my angel to shield!
She stretch'd forth her arms; her mantle she flung to the wind,
And swam o'er Loch Lene, her outlaw'd lover to find.

O would that a freezing sleet-wing'd tempest did sweep,
And I and my love were alone, far off on the deep;
I'd ask not a ship, or a bark, or a pinnace, to save—
With her hand round my waist, I'd fear not the wind or the wave.

'Tis down by the lake where the wild tree fringes its sides,
The maid of my heart, my fair one of Heaven resides:
I think, as at eve she wanders its mazes among,
The birds go to sleep by the sweet wild twist of her song.

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