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.

There Is No God

by Arthur Hugh Clough

−0.1909 − 0.7037i

Drawing the boundary…

Doubt Me!

by Emily Dickinson

−0.2011 − 0.7219i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

There Is No God

by Arthur Hugh Clough

"There is no God," the wicked saith,
   "And truly it's a blessing,
For what He might have done with us
   It's better only guessing."

"There is no God," a youngster thinks,
   "or really, if there may be,
He surely did not mean a man
   Always to be a baby."

"There is no God, or if there is,"
   The tradesman thinks, "'twere funny
If He should take it ill in me
   To make a little money."

"Whether there be," the rich man says,
   "It matters very little,
For I and mine, thank somebody,
   Are not in want of victual."

Some others, also, to themselves,
   Who scarce so much as doubt it,
Think there is none, when they are well,
   And do not think about it.

But country folks who live beneath
   The shadow of the steeple;
The parson and the parson's wife,
   And mostly married people;

Youths green and happy in first love,
   So thankful for illusion;
And men caught out in what the world
   Calls guilt, in first confusion;

And almost everyone when age,
   Disease, or sorrows strike him,
Inclines to think there is a God,
   Or something very like Him.

Doubt Me!

by Emily Dickinson

Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!
Why, God, would be content
With but a fraction of the Life—
Poured thee, without a stint—
The whole of me—forever—
What more the Woman can,
Say quick, that I may dower thee
With last Delight I own!

It cannot be my Spirit—
For that was thine, before—
I ceded all of Dust I knew—
What Opulence the more
Had I—a freckled Maiden,
Whose farthest of Degree,
Was—that she might—
Some distant Heaven,
Dwell timidly, with thee!

Sift her, from Brow to Barefoot!
Strain till your last Surmise—
Drop, like a Tapestry, away,
Before the Fire's Eyes—
Winnow her finest fondness—
But hallow just the snow
Intact, in Everlasting flake—
Oh, Caviler, for you!

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