Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.020 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.

Victory

by Sir Lewis Morris

−0.1048 − 0.4971i

Drawing the boundary…

The Innovator

by Stephen Vincent Benét

−0.1064 − 0.5175i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Victory

by Sir Lewis Morris

We walked together on the sand;
The white cliffs rose and shut out sight;
And then we rested, hand in hand,
Till evening faded into night.

'Twas the last time,—another day
To busier scenes would see me gone;
How should I tear my heart away,
And leave her loveless and alone?

Long time we sat, until the hour
Clanged on our thought, and then I heard
A low, too eloquent sigh of power,
And felt a quiver like a bird.

And marked the lithe form throb and thrill,
As quick the labouring pulses came;
Great God! how near we are to ill,
Girt by dark gulfs of sin and shame.

"Be glad! 'tis nature made you so;
Put off the yoke of childish fears."
"And are there, then, no jails of woe,
No dungeons of despair and tears? "

And so we rose without a word,
And homeward through the darkness went;
Dumb, though our inmost hearts were stirred,
And, save in fancy, innocent.

'Tis three years since. To-day I pressed
The little hand I knew of old:
She bore an infant at her breast,
And on her left the sacred gold.

The Innovator

by Stephen Vincent Benét

I said, "Why should a pyramid
Stand always dully on its base?
I'll change it! Let the top be hid,
The bottom take the apex-place!"
And as I bade they did.

The people flocked in, scores on scores,
To see it balance on its tip.
They praised me with the praise that bores,
My godlike mind on every lip.
—Until it fell, of course.

And then they took my body out
From my crushed palace, mad with rage,
—Well, half the town was wrecked, no doubt—
Their crazy anger to assuage
By dragging it about.

The end? Foul birds defile my skull.
The new king's praises fill the land.
He clings to precept, simple, dull;
His pyramids on bases stand.
But—Lord, how usual!

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