Poem fractal

Side by side

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0.032 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.

The Voice of Him I Love

by Amelia Alderson Opie

0.3533 − 0.6102i

Drawing the boundary…

The Banks O' Doon

by Robert Burns

0.3690 − 0.5820i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

The Voice of Him I Love

by Amelia Alderson Opie

Hence far from me, ye senseless joys
That fade before ye reach the heart,
The crowded dome's distracted noise,
Where all is pomp and useless art!

Give me my home, to quiet dear,
Where hours untold and peaceful move;
So fate ordain I sometimes there
May hear the voice of him I love.

I hate e'en music's pleasing power
When giddy crowds my tones attend,
But love to sing at evening's hour
Too sooth the sorrows of a friend.

I love to breathe the plaintive lays
That Henry's heart and taste approve,
For, oh! how sweet in tones of praise
Appears the voice of him I love!

The praises I from others hear
Some joy may to my pride impart,
But Henry's wake the rapturous tear,
For his applauses touch my heart.

From busy crowds o'erjoyed I fly
With him in lonely shades to rove,
For e'en in gayest scenes I sigh
To hear the voice of him I love.

I woo the drama's magic powers,
Seek music's ever-crowded shrine,
In learning pass the studious hours,
Or try the muse's wreath to twine;

Yet still I feel a joy more dear,
Though I these pure delights approve,
When in retirement's scenes I hear
The soothing voice of him I love.

The Banks O' Doon

by Robert Burns

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary, fu' o' care?

Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons through the flowering thorn;
Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed—never to return.

Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
That sings beside thy mate;
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wistna o' my fate.

Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine;
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
And, fondly, sae did I o' mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pou'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;
And my fause luver stole my rose,
But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

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