Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.016 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…

Bible Defence of Slavery

by Frances E. W. Harper

−0.1880 − 0.7196i

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.

Bible Defence of Slavery

by Frances E. W. Harper

Take sackcloth of the darkest dye,
And shroud the pulpits round!
Servants of Him that cannot lie,
Sit mourning on the ground.

Let holy horror blanch each cheek,
Pale every brow with fears:
And rocks and stones, if ye could speak,
Ye well might melt to tears!

Let sorrow breathe in every tone,
In every strain ye raise;
Insult not God's majestic throne
With th' mockery of praise.

A "reverend" man, whose light should be
The guide of age and youth,
Brings to the shrine of Slavery
The sacrifice of truth!

For the direst wrong by man imposed,
Since Sodom's fearful cry,
The word of life has been unclosed,
To give your God the lie.

Oh! when ye pray for heathen lands,
And plead for their dark shores,
Remember Slavery's cruel hands
Make heathens at your doors!

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