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.

Tried and True

by Phoebe Cary

−0.0195 − 0.4715i

Drawing the boundary…

During Wind And Rain

by Thomas Hardy

−0.0299 − 0.4875i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Tried and True

by Phoebe Cary

Our life is like a march, where some
Fall early from the ranks, and die;
And some, when times of conflict come,
Go over to the enemy.

And he who halts upon the way —
Wearied in spirit and in frame —
To call his roll of friends, will find
How few make answer to their name!

And those who share our youth and joy,
Not always keep our love and trust,
When days of awful anguish bow
Our heads with sorrow to the dust.

My friend! in such a fearful hour,
When heart and spirit sank dismayed,
From thee the words of comfort came —
From thee, the true and tender aid.

Therefore, though many another friend
With youth and youthful pleasure goes,
Thou art of such as I would have
Walk with me till life's solemn close.

Yea, with me when earth's trials are done, —
If I be found, when these shall cease,
Worthy to stand with those who wear
White raiment on the hills of peace.

During Wind And Rain

by Thomas Hardy

They sing their dearest songs —
He, she, all of them — yea,
Treble and tenor and bass,
And one to play;
With the candles mooning each face…
Ah, no; the years O!
How the sick leaves reel down in throngs!

They clear the creeping moss —
Elders and juniors — aye,
Making the pathways neat
And the garden gay;
And they build a shady seat…
Ah, no; the years, the years;
See, the white storm-birds wing across!

They are blithely breakfasting all —
Men and maidens — yea,
Under the summer tree,
With a glimpse of the bay,
While pet fowl come to the knee…
Ah, no; the years O!
And the rotten rose is ript from the wall.

They change to a high new house,
He, she, all of them — aye,
Clocks and carpets and chairs
On the lawn all day,
And brightest things that are theirs…
Ah, no; the years, the years;
Down their carved names the rain-drop ploughs.

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