Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.027 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 Moth

by Nora Hopper Chesson

−0.1598 + 0.2359i

Drawing the boundary…

The Flea

by John Donne

−0.1358 + 0.2228i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Moth

by Nora Hopper Chesson

Let the white moth go by,
Because some wandering spirit it may be 
That loves the kindly earth so close and dear,
It cannot break the bonds that keep it here. 
The day's for us and all the daylight cheer; 
Twilight's for delicate things more glad than we. 
Moths have their right as well as birds to fly; 
Let the white moth go by. 

Let the white moth go by: 
It has a mate whose wings shine silverly 
Somewhere beneath the moonlight, calling it 
To join its airy dances, and to knit 
Two joys in one, for very full must be 
The little lives that two suns cannot see — 
Because we love our childhood, you and I, 
And would not let one delicate memory die, 
And know our kinship to all lives that are, 
To every dewdrop and each falling star — 
Let the white moth go by. 

The Flea

by John Donne

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,   
How little that which thou deniest me is;   
It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;   
Thou know’st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead,
    Yet this enjoys before it woo,
    And pampered swells with one blood made of two,
    And this, alas, is more than we would do.

Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, nay more than married are.   
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is;   
Though parents grudge, and you, w'are met,   
And cloistered in these living walls of jet.
    Though use make you apt to kill me,
    Let not to that, self-murder added be,
    And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail, in blood of innocence?   
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?   
Yet thou triumph’st, and say'st that thou   
Find’st not thy self, nor me the weaker now;
    ’Tis true; then learn how false, fears be:
    Just so much honor, when thou yield’st to me,
    Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.

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