Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.029 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…

Your pain shall be a music

by Dylan Thomas

0.2078 − 0.5297i

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. 

Your pain shall be a music

by Dylan Thomas

Your pain shall be a music in your string
And fill the mouths of heaven with your tongue
Your pain shall be
O my unborn
A vein of mine
Made fast by me.

Your string shall stretch a gully twixt the thumbs
Whose flaming blood shall rub it at the rims
Your pain shall be
O my unsown
A ragged vein
Twixt you and me.

Your pain shall be a meaning in your lips
As milk shall be a music in the paps
Your pain shall be
O my unknown
A stream of mine
Not milked by me.

Your pain shall not unmilk you of the food
That drops to make a music in your blood
Your pain shall be
O my undone
Flesh blood and bone
Surrounding me.

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