Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.026 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.

Love Storm

by D. H. Lawrence

−0.6715 − 0.3879i

Drawing the boundary…

The Assumption

by Charles Williams

−0.6634 − 0.4129i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Love Storm

by D. H. Lawrence

Many roses in the wind
Are tapping at the window-sash.
A hawk is in the sky; his wings
Slowly begin to plash.

The roses with the west wind rapping
Are torn away, and a splash
Of red goes down the billowing air.

Still hangs the hawk, with the whole sky moving
Past him—only a wing-beat proving
The will that holds him there.

The daisies in the grass are bending,
The hawk has dropped, the wind is spending
All the roses, and unending
Rustle of leaves washes out the rending
Cry of a bird.

A red rose goes on the wind.— Ascending
The hawk his windswept way is wending
Easily down the sky. The daisies, sending
Strange white signals, seem intending
To show the place whence the scream was heard.

But, oh, my heart, what birds are piping!
A silver wind is hastily wiping
The face of the youngest rose.

And oh, my heart, cease apprehending!
The hawk is gone, a rose is tapping
The window-sash as the west wind blows.

Knock, knock, 'tis no more than a red rose rapping,
And fear is a plash of wings.
What, then, if a scarlet rose goes flapping
Down the bright-grey ruin of things!

The Assumption

by Charles Williams

With arms all bare to household toil
And a little child in hand,
The Mother of God goes on, goes on,
Beside her Peter, beside her John,
And chanting priest and singing bard,
And Michael the warrior for her guard,
She walks a fertile land.

She treads the ways of Sarras town
As Nazareth she trod,
She knows to mend, she knows to cook,
She knows on Lord Jesus' face to look,
Before her feet the high kings ran,
She, the Maid, is the Mother of Man,
She is the Mother of God.

Sorrow and Labour and Delight
Go surely up with her.
Softly and gaily she goes on,
As when she did her sandals don,
As when she rinsed the cup and can
For blessèd Joseph, a labouring man,
And God, a Carpenter.

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