Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.018 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.

Stanzas of Sorrow

by Amelia Alderson Opie

−0.6585 − 0.4717i

Drawing the boundary…

She's Up and Gone

by Thomas Hood

−0.6427 − 0.4626i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Stanzas of Sorrow

by Amelia Alderson Opie

Methinks there is a fearful blight,
Gone forth o'er all the things that be,
And darken'd seems the noon-day light,
And strangely still the restless sea.

The summer sun has lost its heat,
The sky has lost its lovely blue,
The roses smell no longer sweet,
And rayless seems the glittering dew.

The sky-lark's strain no more is gay,
But seems the trembling tone of woe;
The languid sheep no longer play,
The streams no longer seem to flow.

Whence spreads this awful change around,
Which thus with fearful eye I see?
But is the change by others found?
No—nought on earth is chang'd—but me.

For there's a blight within my heart,
That's thence transferr'd to nature's face;
When shall this painful blight depart,
And nature wear its wonted grace?

When ardent love is chill'd and cold,
And dead as all the hopes it gave—
But when shall I that day behold
When I shall fill my peaceful grave?

She's Up and Gone

by Thomas Hood

She's up and gone, the graceless girl,
And robb'd my failing years!
My blood before was thin and cold
But now 'tis turn'd to tears;—
My shadow falls upon my grave,
So near the brink I stand,
She might have stay'd a little yet,
And led me by the hand!

Aye, call her on the barren moor,
And call her on the hill:
'Tis nothing but the heron's cry,
And plover's answer shrill;
My child is flown on wilder wings
Than they have ever spread,
And I may even walk a waste
That widen'd when she fled.

Full many a thankless child has been,
But never one like mine;
Her meat was served on plates of gold,
Her drink was rosy wine;
But now she'll share the robin's food,
And sup the common rill,
Before her feet will turn again
To meet her father's will!

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