Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.030 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.

Invective Against Swans

by Wallace Stevens

−0.2308 − 0.2551i

Drawing the boundary…

The Emperor's Rhyme

by A. A. Milne

−0.2293 − 0.2848i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Invective Against Swans

by Wallace Stevens

The soul, O ganders, flies beyond the parks 
And far beyond the discords of the wind.

A bronze rain from the sun descending marks
The death of summer, which that time endures

Like one who scrawls a listless testament
Of golden quirks and Paphian caricatures,

Bequeathing your white feathers to the moon
And giving your bland motions to the air.

Behold, already on the long parades
The crows anoint the statues with their dirt.

And the soul, O ganders, being lonely, flies
Beyond your chilly chariots, to the skies.

The Emperor's Rhyme

by A. A. Milne

The King of Peru
(Who was Emperor too)
Had a sort of a rhyme
Which was useful to know,
If he felt very shy
When a stranger came by,
Or they asked him the time
When his watch didn't go;
Or supposing he fell
(By mistake) down a well,
Or he tumbled when skating
And sat on his hat,
Or perhaps wasn't told,
Till his porridge was cold,
That his breakfast was waiting - 
Or something like that;
Oh, whenever the Emperor
Got in to a temper, or
Felt himself sulky or sad,
He would murmur and murmur,
Until he felt firmer,
This curious rhyme which he had:

Eight eights are sixty-four,
Multiply by seven.
When it's done,
Carry one
And take away eleven,
Nine nines are eighty-one
Multiply by three.
If it's more,
Carry four,
And then it's time for tea.

So whenever the Queen
Took his armour to clean,
And she didn't remember
To use any starch;
Or his birthday (in May)
Was a horrible day,
Being wet as November
And windy as March;
Or, if sitting in state
With the Wise and the Great,
He just happened to hiccup
While signing his name,
Or the Queen gave a cough,
When his crown tumbled off
As he bent down to pick up
A pen for the same;
Oh, whenever the Emperor
Got into a temper, or
Felt himself awkward and shy,
He would whisper and whisper,
Until he felt crisper,
This odd little rhyme to the sky:

Eight eights are eighty-one;
Multiply by seven.
If it's more,
Carry four,
And take away eleven.
Nine nines are sixty-four;
Multiply by three.
When it's done,
Carry one,
And then it's time for tea.

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