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.

A Bride Song

by Christina Rossetti

−0.4280 − 0.4619i

Drawing the boundary…

The Deluge

by G. K. Chesterton

−0.4231 − 0.4449i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

A Bride Song

by Christina Rossetti

Through the vales to my love!
To the happy small nest of home
Green from basement to roof;
Where the honey-bees come
To the window-sill flowers,
And dive from above,
Safe from the spider that weaves
Her warp and her woof
In some outermost leaves.

Through the vales to my love!
In sweet April hours
All rainbows and showers,
While dove answers dove, –
In beautiful May,
When the orchards are tender
And frothing with flowers;
In opulent June,
When the wheat stands up slender
By sweet-smelling hay,
And half the sun’s splendour
Descends to the moon.

Through the vales to my love!
Where the turf is so soft to the feet,
And the thyme makes it sweet,
And the stately foxglove
Hangs silent its exquisite bells;
And where water wells
The greenness grows greener,
And bulrushes stand
Round a lily to screen her.

Nevertheless, if this land,
Like a garden to smell and to sight,
Were turned to a desert of sand,
Stripped bare of delight,
All its best gone to worst,
For my feet no repose,
No water to comfort my thirst,
And heaven like a furnace above,
The desert would be
As gushing of waters to me,
The wilderness be as a rose,
If it led me to thee,
O my love!

The Deluge

by G. K. Chesterton

Though giant rains put out the sun,
  Here stand I for a sign.
Though Earth be filled with waters dark,
  My cup is filled with wine.
Tell to the trembling priests that here
  Under the deluge rod,
One nameless, tattered, broken man
  Stood up and drank to God.

Sun has been where the rain is now,
  Bees in the heat to hum,
Haply a humming maiden came,
  Now let the Deluge come:
Brown of aureole, green of garb,
  Straight as a golden rod,
Drink to the throne of thunder now!
  Drink to the wrath of God.

High in the wreck I held the cup,
  I clutched my rusty sword,
I cocked my tattered feather
  To the glory of the Lord.
Not undone were the heaven and earth,
  This hollow world thrown up,
Before one man had stood up straight!
  And drained it like a cup.

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