Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.049 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.

Guilo

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

0.3835 + 0.0433i

Drawing the boundary…

The Sad Bridal

by Edmund Clarence Stedman

0.3405 + 0.0668i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Guilo

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Yes, yes! I love thee, Guilo; thee alone.
Why dost thou sigh, and wear that face of sorrow?
The sunshine is to-day's, although it shone
On yesterday, and may shine on to-morrow.

I love but thee, my Guilo! be content;
The greediest heart can claim but present pleasure.
The future is thy God's. The past is spent.
To-day is thine; clasp close the precious treasure.

See how I love thee, Guilo! Lips and eyes
Could never under thy fond gaze dissemble.
I could not feign these passion-laden sighs;
Deceiving thee, my pulses would not tremble.

"So I loved Romney." Hush, thou foolish one —
I should forget him wholly wouldst thou let me;
Or but remember that his day was done
From that supremest hour when first I met thee.

"And Paul?" Well, what of Paul? Paul had blue eyes,
And Romney gray, and thine are darkly tender!
One finds fresh feelings under change of skies —
A new horizon brings a newer splendor.

As I love thee I never loved before;
Believe me, Guilo, for I speak most truly.
What though to Romney and to Paul I swore
The self-same words; my heart now worships newly.

We never feel the same emotion twice:
No two ships ever ploughed the self-same billow;
The waters change with every fall and rise;
So, Guilo, go contented to thy pillow.

The Sad Bridal

by Edmund Clarence Stedman

What would you do, my dear one said,—
What would you do, if I were dead?
If Death should mumble, as he list,
These red lips which now you kist?
What would my love do, were I wed
To that ghastly groom instead;
If o'er me, in the chancel, Death
Should cast his amaranthine wreath, —
Before my eyes, with fingers pale,
Draw down the mouldy bridal veil?
— Ah no! no! it cannot be!
Death would spare their light, and flee,
And leave my love to Life and me!

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