Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.028 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 Red, Red Rose

by Robert Burns

0.0634 − 0.3954i

Drawing the boundary…

Hallowe'en

by Violet Jacob

0.0560 − 0.4223i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Red, Red Rose

by Robert Burns

O were my love yon lilac fair,
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring;
And I, a bird to shelter there,
When wearied on my little wing!
How I wad mourn, when it was torn
By autumn wild, and winter rude!
But I wad sing on wanton wing,
When youthfu' May its bloom renewed.

O gin my love were yon red rose,
That grows upon the castle wa';
And I mysel' a drap o' dew,
Into her bonnie breast to fa'!
Oh, there beyond expression blest,
I'd feast on beauty a' the night;
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light.

Hallowe'en

by Violet Jacob

The tattie-liftin's nearly through,
They're ploughin' whaur the barley grew,
And aifter dark, roond ilka stack,
Ye'll see the horsemen stand an' crack
O Lachlan, but I mind o' you!

I mind foo often we hae seen
Ten thoosand stars keek doon atween
The nakit branches, an' below
Baith fairm an' bothie hae their show,
Alowe wi' lichts o' Hallowe'en.

There's bairns wi' guizards at their tail
Clourin' the doors wi' runts o' kail,
And fine ye'll hear the skreichs an' skirls
O' lassies wi' their droukit curls
Bobbin' for aipples i' the pail.

The bothie fire is loupin' het,
A new heid horseman's kist is set
Richts o' the lum; whaur by the blaze
The auld ane stude that kept yer claes—
I canna thole to see it yet!

But gin the auld fowks' tales are richt
An ghaists come hame on Hallow nicht,
O freend o' freends! what wad I gie
To feel ye rax yer hand to me
Atween the dark an' caun'le licht?

Awa in France, across the wave,
The wee lichts burn on ilka grave,
An' you an' me their lowe hae seen—
Ye'll mebbe hae yer Hallowe'en
Yont, whaur ye're lyin' wi' the lave.

There's drink an' daffin', sang an' dance
And ploys and kisses get their chance,
But Lachlan, man, the place I see
Is whaur the auld kist used to be
And the lichts o' Hallowe'en in France!

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