Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.009 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.

Well! thou art happy

by Lord Byron

0.1792 − 0.5297i

Drawing the boundary…

‘Tis so much joy!

by Emily Dickinson

0.1863 − 0.5238i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Well! thou art happy

by Lord Byron

Well! thou art happy, and I feel 
That I should thus be happy too; 
For still my heart regards thy weal 
Warmly, as it was wont to do.

Thy husband's blest — and 't will impart 
Some pangs to view his happier lot:
But let them pass — Oh! how my heart 
Would hate him, if he loved thee not! 

When late I saw thy favorite child,
I thought my jealous heart would break;
But when the unconscious infant smiled, 
I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.

I kiss'd it, — and repressed my sighs
Its father in its face to see; 
But then it had its mother's eyes, 
And they were all to love and me. 

Mary, adieu! I must away:
While thou art blest I'll not repine; 
But near thee I can never stay;
My heart would soon again be thine. 

I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride 
Had quench'd at length my boyish flame:
Nor knew, till seated by thy side,
My heart in all, — save hope, — the same. 

Yet was I calm: I knew the time
My breast would thrill before thy look; 
But now to tremble were a crime — 
We met, — and not a nerve was shook. 

I saw thee gaze upon my face, 
Yet met with no confusion there: 
One only feeling could'st thou trace; 
The sullen calmness of despair. 

Away! away! my early dream 
Remembrance never must awake;
Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream! 
My foolish heart be still, or break. 

‘Tis so much joy!

by Emily Dickinson

‘Tis so much joy! ‘Tis so much joy!
If I should fail, what poverty!
And yet, as poor as I,
Have ventured all upon a throw!
Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so —
This side the Victory!

Life is but Life! And Death, but Death!
Bliss is, but Bliss, and Breath but Breath!
And if indeed I fail,
At least, to know the worst, is sweet!
Defeat means nothing but Defeat,
No drearier, can befall!

And if I gain! Oh Gun at Sea!
Oh Bells, that in the Steeples be!
At first, repeat it slow!
For Heaven is a different thing,
Conjectured, and waked sudden in —
And might extinguish me!

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