Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.036 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 Sirens' Song

by William Browne, of Tavistock

0.0538 − 0.1140i

Drawing the boundary…

He Likens Her to a Rose-Tree, Himself to the Wind

by F. S. Flint

0.0249 − 0.1353i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Sirens' Song

by William Browne, of Tavistock

Steer, hither steer your winged pines,
        All beaten mariners!
Here lie Love's undiscover'd mines,
        A prey to passengers—
Perfumes far sweeter than the best
Which make the Phoenix' urn and nest.
        Fear not your ships,
Nor any to oppose you save our lips;
        But come on shore,
Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more.

For swelling waves our panting breasts,
        Where never storms arise,
Exchange, and be awhile our guests:
        For stars gaze on our eyes.
The compass Love shall hourly sing,
And as he goes about the ring,
        We will not miss
To tell each point he nameth with a kiss.
        —Then come on shore,
Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more.

He Likens Her to a Rose-Tree, Himself to the Wind

by F. S. Flint

Our feet are treading on earth's parapet
Over the heavens. Among the stars we stept.

Night has been drawn up trembling from his lair,
And the four winds play in our ruffled hair.

Along the black bare branch sleeps almond bloom,
Silvery in the slow silver of the moon.

You are mysterious, and you speak no word;
And who you may be I have never heard.

But though this secret I can never know,
So that you love me, I am content 'tis so,—

So that I love you, I, the wind, and you,
The slim young rose-tree against which I blew,

And rapt the earth with perfume. From the lake
The bright swift fish leapt up for your sweet sake,

And the slow buds were quickened in their pale
Green chalices. I woke the nightingale.

Dear, lift your breasts like two white roses to
The stars. The moon will have no shame of you.

In the calm splendour and the pain of night,
The wind will babble songs of its delight.

Our feet are treading on earth's parapet.

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