Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.026 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.

Music

by William Lisle Bowles

−0.4346 + 0.7514i

Drawing the boundary…

Attendite Popule

by Lady Jane Wilde

−0.4607 + 0.7545i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Music

by William Lisle Bowles

O Harmony! thou tenderest nurse of pain, 
If that thy note's sweet magic e'er can heal 
Griefs which the patient spirit oft may feel, 
Oh! let me listen to thy songs again; 
Till memory her fairest tints shall bring; 
Hope wake with brighter eye, and listening seem 
With smiles to think on some delightful dream, 
That waved o'er the charmed sense its gladsome wing! 
For when thou leadest all thy soothing strains 
More smooth along, the silent passions meet 
In one suspended transport, sad and sweet; 
And nought but sorrow's softest touch remains; 
That, when the transitory charm is o'er, 
Just wakes a tear, and then is felt no more. 

Attendite Popule

by Lady Jane Wilde

Oh! that I stood upon some lofty tower,
Before the gathered people, face to face,
That, like God's thunder, might my words of power
Roll down the cry of Freedom to its base!
Oh! that my voice, a storm above all storms,
Could cleave earth, air, and ocean, rend the sky
With the fierce earthquake shout: "To arms! to arms!
For Truth, Fame, Freedom, Vengeance, Victory!"

The mountains, could they speak, would cry in thunder,
"Too long we've borne the tyrant's trampling hoof;"
The stars would fight from Heaven with signs of wonder;
The tempest waves dash back a stern reproof:
But ye, writhing like worms beneath the tyrant's spurning,
Dragged in the dust behind his chariot-wheel,
Is there no vengeance in your strong hearts burning,
Tho' God, and man, and earth, and heaven appeal?
Oh! for some prophet's voice to rouse and warn—
Some angel's strength to strike them branch and root!
Oh! for Christ's strength to bid, in Godlike scorn,
The very stones cry out, should ye be mute!

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