Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.027 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.

Amantium Irae

by Ernest Dowson

−0.2161 − 0.6994i

Drawing the boundary…

Idle Verse

by Henry Vaughan

−0.2007 − 0.7214i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Amantium Irae

by Ernest Dowson

When this, our rose, is faded,
And these, our days, are done,
In lands profoundly shaded
From tempest and from sun:
Ah, once more come together,
Shall we forgive the past,
And safe from worldly weather
Possess our souls at last?

Or in our place of shadows
Shall still we stretch an hand
To green, remembered meadows,
Of that old pleasant land?
And vainly there foregathered,
Shall we regret the sun?
The rose of love, ungathered?
The bay, we have not won?

Ah, child! the world's dark marges
May lead to Nevermore,
The stately funeral barges
Sail for an unknown shore,
And love we vow to-morrow,
And pride we serve to-day:
What if they both should borrow
Sad hues of yesterday?

Our pride! Ah, should we miss it,
Or will it serve at last?
Our anger, if we kiss it,
Is like a sorrow past.
While roses deck the garden,
While yet the sun is high,
Doff sorry pride for pardon,
Or ever love go by.

Idle Verse

by Henry Vaughan

Go, go, quaint follies, sugared sin,
Shadow no more my door;
I will no longer cobwebs spin,
I'm too much on the score.

For since amidst my youth, and night,
My great preserver smiles,
We'll make a match, my only light,
And join against their wiles;

Blind, desperate fits, that study how
To dress, and trim our shame,
That gild rank poison, and allow
Vice in a fairer name;

The purls of youthful blood, and bowels,
Lust in the robes of love,
The idle talk of feverish souls
Sick with a scarf, or glove;

Let it suffice my warmer days
Simpered, and shined on you,
Twist not my cypress with your bays,
Or roses with my yew;

Go, go, seek out some greener thing,
It snows, and freezeth here;
Let nightingales attend the spring,
Winter is all my year.

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