Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.010 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.

A Thrush Before Dawn

by Alice Meynell

−0.2544 − 0.4246i

Drawing the boundary…

I Go, Sweet Friends!

by Felicia Dorothea Hemans

−0.2645 − 0.4270i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

A Thrush Before Dawn

by Alice Meynell

A voice peals in this end of night
A phrase of notes resembling stars,
Single and spiritual notes of light.
What call they at my window-bars?
The South, the past, the day to be,
An ancient infelicity.

Darkling, deliberate, what sings
This wonderful one, alone, at peace?
What wilder things than song, what things
Sweeter than youth, clearer than Greece,
Dearer than Italy, untold
Delight, and freshness centuries old?

And first first-loves, a multitude,
The exaltation of their pain;
Ancestral childhood long renewed;
And midnights of invisible rain;
And gardens, gardens, night and day,
Gardens and childhood all the way.

What Middle Ages passionate,
O passionless voice! What distant bells
Lodged in the hills, what palace state
Illyrian! For it speaks, it tells,
Without desire, without dismay,
Some morrow and some yesterday.

All-natural things! But more—Whence came
This yet remoter mystery?
How do these starry notes proclaim
A graver still divinity?
This hope, this sanctity of fear?
O innocent throat! O human ear!

I Go, Sweet Friends!

by Felicia Dorothea Hemans

I go, sweet friends! yet think of me
When spring's young voice awakes the flowers;
For we have wander'd far and free
In those bright hours, the violet's hours.

I go; but when you pause to hear,
From distant hills, the Sabbath-bell
On summer-winds float silvery clear,
Think on me then—I loved it well!

Forget me not around your hearth,
When cheerly smiles the ruddy blaze;
For dear hath been its evening mirth
To me, sweet friends, in other days.

And oh! when music's voice is heard
To melt in strains of parting woe,
When hearts to love and grief are stirr'd,
Think of me then!— I go, I go!

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