Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.062 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.

Reproof of Thanks

by Walter Savage Landor

1.1183 − 0.2465i

Drawing the boundary…

Mary, Pity Women!

by Rudyard Kipling

1.1312 − 0.1858i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Reproof of Thanks

by Walter Savage Landor

Nay, thank me not again for those
Camelias, that untimely rose;
But if, whence you might please the more,
And win the few unwon before,
I sought the flowers you loved to wear,
O'erjoy'd to see them in your hair,
Upon my grave, I pray you, set
One primrose or one violet.
…Stay…I can wait a little yet.

Mary, Pity Women!

by Rudyard Kipling

You call yourself a man,
 For all you used to swear,
An' leave me, as you can,
 My certain shame to bear?
 I 'ear!  You do not care—
You done the worst you know.
 I 'ate you, grinnin' there....
Ah, Gawd, I love you so!

  Nice while it lasted, an' now it is over—
  Tear out your 'eart an' good-bye to your lover!
  What's the use o' grievin', when the mother that bore you
  (Mary, pity women!) knew it all before you?

It aren't no false alarm,
 The finish to your fun;
You—you 'ave brung the 'arm,
 An' I'm the ruined one;
 An' now you'll off an' run
With some new fool in tow.
 Your 'eart?  You 'aven't none....
Ah, Gawd, I love you so!

  When a man is tired there is naught will bind 'im;
  All 'e solemn promised 'e will shove be'ind 'im.
  What's the good o' prayin' for The Wrath to strike 'im
  (Mary, pity women!), when the rest are like 'im?

What 'ope for me or—it?
 What's left for us to do?
I've walked with men a bit,
 But this—but this is you.
So 'elp me Christ, it's true!
 Where can I 'ide or go?
You coward through and through!...
 Ah, Gawd, I love you so!

  All the more you give 'em the less are they for givin'—
  Love lies dead, an' you cannot kiss 'im livin'.
  Down the road 'e led you there is no returnin'
  (Mary, pity women!), but you're late in learnin'!

You'd like to treat me fair?
 You can't, because we're pore?
We'd starve?  What do I care!
 We might, but this is shore!
 I want the name—no more—
The name, an' lines to show,
 An' not to be an 'ore....
Ah, Gawd, I love you so!

  What's the good o' pleadin', when the mother that bore you
  (Mary, pity women!) knew it all before you?
  Sleep on 'is promises an' wake to your sorrow
  (Mary, pity women!), for we sail to-morrow!

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