Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.049 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.

High Flight

by John Gillespie Magee Jr.

−0.6746 + 0.3085i

Drawing the boundary…

The Little Ghost

by Patrick Reginald Chalmers

−0.6503 + 0.2660i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

High Flight

by John Gillespie Magee Jr.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds,—and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air…

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark nor ever eagle flew—
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

The Little Ghost

by Patrick Reginald Chalmers

Broad, high yew hedges flank the flowers, and border 
An old, smooth lawn where, fashioned grimly stiff. 
Two knights — in close-clipped box — keep ancient order, 
O'er shaven dragon, hound and hippogriff; 
And there,
When the June air 
At dusk is cool and fair. 
And the great roses strengthen on their stalks, 
Down the long path, beset 
With heaven-scented, haunting mignonette. 
The gardeners say, 
A little grey 
Ghost-lady walks! 

I haven't seen her, haven't heard her legend. 
Pale little shade, only the rumour tells 
That 'tis her wont to wander to the hedge-end, 
And vanish near the Canterbury Bells; 
And so 
I do not know 
What sends her to and fro — 
Murder, may be, or broken heart, or gold. 
I like to fancy most 
That she is just some little lady's ghost 
Who loved her flowers
And quiet hours 
In Junes of old! 

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