Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.019 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.

On Some Pictures

by Bernard Barton

−0.3422 − 0.4595i

Drawing the boundary…

It is Not Always May

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

−0.3525 − 0.4749i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

On Some Pictures

by Bernard Barton

They err'd not who relied for fame
On works of such magnificence;
Whose charms, unchangeably the same,
Surprise and ravish soul and sense.

For here, though long since dead, they live
With power to waken smiles and tears;
And to unconscious canvass give
What lived and breathed in distant years:

What still shall captivate, when we
Who now with admiration gaze,
Like those who fashion'd them, shall be
The creatures of departed days.

Still shall that sleeping infant's face
Beauty and innocence reveal;
That sainted mother's matron grace
To every mother's heart appeal.

Those misty mountains still shall rise,
As now they do; those vales expand;
And still those torrents, trees, and skies,
Tell of each master's magic hand.

It is Not Always May

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The sun is bright,—the air is clear,
The darting swallows soar and sing.
And from the stately elms I hear
The bluebird prophesying Spring.

So blue you winding river flows,
It seems an outlet from the sky,
Where waiting till the west-wind blows,
The freighted clouds at anchor lie.

All things are new;—the buds, the leaves,
That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest,
And even the nest beneath the eaves;—
There are no birds in last year's nest!

All things rejoice in youth and love,
The fulness of their first delight!
And learn from the soft heavens above
The melting tenderness of night.

Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme,
Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay;
Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime,
For oh, it is not always May!

Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth,
To some good angel leave the rest;
For Time will teach thee soon the truth,
There are no birds in last year's nest!

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