Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.021 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.

Domestic Peace

by Anne Brontë

−0.1577 − 0.4625i

Drawing the boundary…

Written at an Inn at Henley

by William Shenstone

−0.1404 − 0.4743i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Domestic Peace

by Anne Brontë

Why should such gloomy silence reign,
And why is all the house so drear,
When neither danger, sickness, pain,
Nor death, nor want, has entered here?

We are as many as we were
That other night, when all were gay
And full of hope, and free from care;
Yet is there something gone away.

The moon without, as pure and calm,
Is shining as that night she shone;
But now, to us, she brings no balm,
For something from our hearts is gone.

Something whose absence leaves a void—
A cheerless want in every heart;
Each feels the bliss of all destroyed,
And mourns the change—but each apart.

The fire is burning in the grate
As redly as it used to burn;
But still the hearth is desolate,
Till mirth, and love, with peace return.

'Twas peace that flowed from heart to heart,
With looks and smiles that spoke of heaven,
And gave us language to impart
The blissful thoughts itself had given.

Domestic peace! best joy of earth,
When shall we all thy value learn?
White angel, to our sorrowing hearth,
Return,—oh, graciously return!

Written at an Inn at Henley

by William Shenstone

To thee, fair freedom! I retire
From flattery, cards, and dice, and din:
Nor art thou found in mansions higher
Than the low cott, or humble inn.

'Tis here, with boundless pow'r, I reign;
And ev'ry health which I begin
Converts dull port to bright champaigne;
Such freedom crowns it, at an inn.

Here, waiter! take my sordid ore,
Which lacqueys else might hope to win;
It buys, what courts have not in store;
It buys me freedom, at an inn.

And now once more I shape my way
Thro' rain or shine, thro' thick or thin,
Secure to meet, at close of day,
With kind reception, at an inn.

Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round,
Where'er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think he still has found
The warmest welcome, at an inn.

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