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.

No coward soul is mine

by Emily Brontë

0.0411 − 0.4884i

Drawing the boundary…

The Grave-Digger

by Anne Whitney

0.0487 − 0.5163i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

No coward soul is mine

by Emily Brontë

No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere:
I see Heaven's glories shine,
And faith shines equal, arming me from Fear.

O God within my breast,
Almighty, ever-present Deity!
Life, that in me has rest,
As I, undying Life, have power in Thee!

Vain are the thousand creeds
That move men's hearts: unutterably vain;
Worthless as withered weeds,
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main,

To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by Thine infinity;
So surely anchored on
The steadfast rock of Immortality.

With wide-embracing love
Thy Spirit animates eternal years,
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears.

Though earth and man were gone,
And suns and universes ceased to be,
And Thou were left alone,
Every existence would exist in Thee.

There is no room for Death,
Nor atom that his might could render void:
Thou—THOU art Being and Breath,
And what THOU art may never be destroyed.

The Grave-Digger

by Anne Whitney

As pleasant a man as you would see,
Native or foreign, to vouch I dare;
His laugh was hoarse but full of glee,
Indifferent when or where.

But most in graves the old man kept
His singular jubilee;
He roared at what most others wept;
His life was a funeral glee.

He had no rival in his trade:
He knew, one after another,
All the village would need his axe and spade,
And troubled himself no further.

His love and duty were never at strife—
His charity looked to all;
He seemed to think his lease on life
Long as death held carnival.

He reasoned, "Well, 'tis nature's creed
And man's chief want—is burial."
The friend of the world in its sorest need,
Could the world then spare him well?

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