Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.043 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.

Send Her a Valentine

by Edgar A. Guest

0.1488 − 0.3074i

Drawing the boundary…

An Ode to Love

by Aphra Behn

0.1061 − 0.3120i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Send Her a Valentine

by Edgar A. Guest

Send her a valentine to say
You love her in the same old way.
Just drop the long familiar ways
And live again the old-time days
When love was new and youth was bright
And all was laughter and delight,
And treat her as you would if she
Were still the girl that used to be.

Pretend that all the years have passed
Without one cold and wintry blast;
That you are coming still to woo
Your sweetheart as you used to do;
Forget that you have walked along
The paths of life where right and wrong
And joy and grief in battle are,
And play the heart without a scar.

Be what you were when youth was fine
And send to her a valentine;
Forget the burdens and the woe
That have been given you to know
And to the wife, so fond and true,
The pledges of the past renew.
'Twill cure her life of every ill
To find that you're her sweetheart still.

An Ode to Love

by Aphra Behn

Dull Love no more thy senseless arrows prize,
Damn thy gay quiver, break thy bow;
'Tis only young Lysanders eyes,
That all the arts of wounding know.

A pox of foolish politics in love,
A wise delay in war the foe may harm:
By lazy siege while you to conquest move;
His fiercer beauties vanquish by a storm.

Some wounded god, to be revenged on thee,
The charming youth formed in a lucky hour,
Dressed him in all that fond divinity,
That has out-rivalled thee, a god, in power.

Or else while thou supinely laid 
Basking beneath some myrtle shade,
In careless sleep, or tired with play,
When all thy shafts did scattered lie;
Th'unguarded spoils he bore away,
And armed himself with the artillery.

The sweetness from thy eyes he took,
The charming dimples from thy mouth,
That wonderous softness when you spoke;
And all thy everlasting youth.

Thy bow, thy quiver, and thy darts:
Even of thy painted wing has rifled thee,
To bear him from his conquered broken hearts,
To the next fair and yielding she.

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