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.

Aunt Tabitha

by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

0.1775 + 0.1345i

Drawing the boundary…

Rain and Tears

by Edward James Mortimer Collins

0.1804 + 0.1061i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Aunt Tabitha

by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

Whatever I do, and whatever I say,
Aunt Tabitha tells me that is n't the way;
When she was a girl (forty summers ago)
Aunt Tabitha tells me they never did so.

Dear aunt! If I only would take her advice!
But I like my own way, and I find it so nice
And besides, I forget half the things I am told;
But they all will come back to me—when I am old.

If a youth passes by, it may happen, no doubt,
He may chance to look in as I chance to look out;
She would never endure an impertinent stare,—
It is horrid, she says, and I must n't sit there.

A walk in the moonlight has pleasures, I own,
But it is n't quite safe to be walking alone;
So I take a lad's arm,—just for safety, you know,—
But Aunt Tabitha tells me they did n't do so.

How wicked we are, and how good they were then!
They kept at arm's length those detestable men;
What an era of virtue she lived in!—But stay—
Were the men all such rogues in Aunt Tabitha's day?

If the men were so wicked, I 'll ask my papa
How he dared to propose to my darling mamma;
Was he like the rest of them? Goodness! Who knows?
And what shall I say, if a wretch should propose?

I am thinking if Aunt knew so little of sin,
What a wonder Aunt Tabitha's aunt must have been!
And her grand-aunt—it scares me—how shockingly sad
That we girls of to-day are so frightfully bad!

A martyr will save us, and nothing else can;
Let me perish—to rescue some wretched young man!
Though when to the altar a victim I go,
Aunt Tabitha 'll tell me she never did so.

Rain and Tears

by Edward James Mortimer Collins

O sky, thou art far too blue!
Pine for the sweet soft rain the tremulous ferns
And the scorched grasses and the blossom-urns,
Ay, in his lonely glade the great oak yearns:
Even water-lilies swoon
In the long languid noon,
Since slow and shallow is the streamlet's lymph,
Home of the Naiad nymph:
O sterile sky, yield thy refreshing dew!

O love, thou art far too gay!
Thy lips laugh always and thy bright eyes shine,
And both are mine, you darling, both are mine,
And love is sweeter than the summer's wine:
Yet, even in thy sleep,
Just for a moment weep,
Or let some fanciful and foolish fears
Soften those eyes with tears.
O love, I want some tears to kiss away!

—
—
0:00
0:00
Track 1
Skip to main content