Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.040 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.

Reunited

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

−0.0653 − 0.1643i

Drawing the boundary…

Irish Ivy

by Nora Hopper Chesson

−0.0948 − 0.1366i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Reunited

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Let us begin, dear love, where we left off;
Tie up the broken threads of that old dream,
And go on happy as before, and seem
Lovers again, though all the world may scoff.

Let us forget the graves which lie between
Our parting and our meeting, and the tears
That rusted out the gold-work of the years,
The frosts that fell upon our gardens green.

Let us forget the cold, malicious Fate
Who made our loving hearts her idle toys,
And once more revel in the old sweet joys
Of happy love. Nay, it is not too late!

Forget the deep-ploughed furrows in my brow;
Forget the silver gleaming in my hair;
Look only in my eyes! Oh! darling, there
The old love shone no warmer then than now.

Down in the tender deeps of thy dear eyes
I find the lost sweet memory of my youth,
Bright with the holy radiance of thy truth,
And hallowed with the blue of summer skies.

Tie up the broken threads and let us go,
Like reunited lovers, hand in hand,
Back, and yet onward, to the sunny land
Of our To Be, which was our Long Ago.

Irish Ivy

by Nora Hopper Chesson

Ivy of Ireland in my garden grows 
Beside the foxglove that the wild bee knows, 
More dear to me than lavender or rose. 

Gray moths about it flit, and gold wasps hum: 
The bees salute it softly as they come: 
The east wind loiters by it, and is dumb — 

Or whispers very lightly of green rings, 
And hollow raths, and fairy-peopled springs, 
And buried days when Boholaun had wings: 

And rode amid the unforgotten Shee. 
Or the west wind comes, laughing, from the sea, 
And tells the youngest leaves of days to be, 

When Eri's grievous wound is healed, and she 
Shall lift her gracious head, and, smiling, see 
Her children coming crowned about her knee. 

Ivy of Ireland, is the promise clear? 
You climb towards the light 'twixt hope and fear. 
But would to God the day we wait were here! 

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