Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.034 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.

To Night

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

−0.0726 − 0.4252i

Drawing the boundary…

To the Spring

by Sir John Davies

−0.0530 − 0.4535i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

To Night

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Swiftly walk over the western wave,
              Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear,—
             Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,
             Star-inwrought!
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand—
             Come, long sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn,
             I sigh'd for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
             I sighed for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried,
             Wouldst thou me?
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noon-tide bee,
Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me?—And I replied,
             No, not thee!

Death will come when thou art dead,
             Soon, too soon—
Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, belovèd Night—
Swift be thine approaching flight,
             Come soon, soon!

To the Spring

by Sir John Davies

Earth now is greene, and heauen is blew,
Liuely Spring which makes all new,
Jolly Spring, doth enter;
Sweete yong sun-beames doe subdue
Angry, agèd Winter.

Blasts are milde, and seas are calme,
Euery meadow flowes with balme,
The Earth weares all her riches;
Harmonious birdes sing such a psalme,
As eare and heart bewitches.

Reserue (sweet Spring) this Nymph of ours,
Eternall garlands of thy flowers,
Greene garlands neuer wasting;
In her shall last our State's faire Spring,
Now and for euer flourishing,
As long as Heauen is lasting.

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