Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.020 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.

Stark Major

by Hart Crane

0.0264 − 0.5800i

Drawing the boundary…

A Love Letter

by Isobel Pagan

0.0404 − 0.5651i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Stark Major

by Hart Crane

The lover's death, how regular
With lifting spring and starker
Vestiges of the sun that somehow
Filter in to us before we waken.

Not yet is there that heat and sober
Vivisection of more clamant air
That hands joined in the dark will answer
After the daily circuits of its glare.

It is the time of sundering…
Beneath the green silk counterpane
Her mound of undelivered life
Lies cool upon her—not yet pain.

And she will wake before you pass,
Scarcely aloud, beyond her door,
And every third step down the stair
Until you reach the muffled floor—

Will laugh and call your name; while you,
Still answering her faint good-byes,
Will find the street, only to look
At doors and stone with broken eyes.

Walk now, and note the lover's death.
Henceforth her memory is more
Than yours, in cries, in ecstasies
You cannot ever reach to share.

A Love Letter

by Isobel Pagan

I you desir'd my bosom friend,
Now if you can think it so,
Pray yield all pleasures to my mind,
And make much happiness to flow,

Sure its decreed by the pow'rs above,
As I'm now oblig'd to think,
We'll lay aside all flattering words,
And close in love's embraces link.

What though envy and lying tongues,
'Gainst you their utmost forces bend,
And some makes money all their hope,
While love, you know's, a lasting friend.

When absent from your company,.
'Tis great uneasiness to me,
But hope again makes love remain,
I'm still rejoicing thee to see.

At night when I go to my rest,
Thinking to get some sweet repose,
Your image still is with me there,
Sweeter far than any rose.

But yet far short of the sweet joys,
That love's embraces now have press'd,
In thy soft arms to be enclos'd,
And there in silence sleep to rest.

I will guard thee round about,
Myself, I'm sure, shall be the door,
And if thy heart chance to steal out,
I vow I'll never love thee more.

Though father fret, and mother scold,
Although that all my friends should frown,
All that I have thou art sure of,
And well may think it all thine own.

I have not time to make more rhyme,
So well's my judgment could express,
But I am thine, and heart and mind,
Sincerely hope the Lord will bless.

If you'll be true as I'm to you,
So shall you find me evermore,
I add no more, but so I rest,
Sincere your true love and your dear.

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