♥ Valentine's Day app: remixing poetry

♥:

Just the thing for Valentine’s Day. Remix Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnets from the Portuguese using charNG, a text-generator that uses Markov chaining to make new texts from old. Below are two samples. Our poet (unlike the original) seems to have run out of inspiration during the second…

1. Silver answer

silver

answer

rang, — "Not

Death," I

said,

But,

there,

The sweet years, of

all those

natural

joys

as

light once

how

Theocritus

had sung

Of

the silver answer rang,

—

"Not

Death,"

I

said,

But, thereby!

But

love alone.

umber of chars: 300

N-gram length: 7

Type of chaining: markov

40% chance of inserting a newline after a word

40% chance of inserting 5 ± 5 initial spaces

2. And breadth

after

sorrow

after sorrow after sorrow

after

death.

love thee?

Let me an

example,

shown me with

a passion

put to use

In my old

grief

If

thou didst bid me bring

thee to the depth and

breadth

and

breadth and

breadth

and

breadth and

breadth

and breadth

and breadth and breadth

and

breadth

and

breadth

Number of chars: 300

N-gram length: 7

Type of chaining: markov

40% chance of inserting a newline after a word

40% chance of inserting 5 ± 5 initial spaces

To make your own love poems, copy the raw material below into the Corpus window at the top left of the charNG window. Set the controls and let the Internet pour its heart out, just for you!

I thought once how Theocritus had sung

Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,

Who each one in a gracious hand appears

To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:

And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,

I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,

The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,

Those of my own life, who by turns had flung

A shadow across me. Straightaway I was 'ware,

So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move

Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;

And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,

"Guess now who holds thee?" — "Death," I said, But, there,

The silver answer rang, — "Not Death, but Love."

Indeed this very love which is my boast,

And which, when rising up from breast to brow,

Doth crown me with a ruby large enow

To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost,—

This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,

I should not love withal, unless that thou

Hadst set me an example, shown me how,

When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed,

And love called love. And thus, I cannot speak

Of love even, as a good thing of my own:

Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,

And placed it by thee on a golden throne,—

And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)

Is by thee only, whom I love alone.

And wilt thou have me fashion into speech

The love I bear thee, finding words enough,

And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough,

Between our faces, to cast light on each?—

I drop it at thy feet. I cannot teach

My hand to hold my spirit so far off

From myself—me—that I should bring thee proof

In words, of love hid in me out of reach.

Nay, let the silence of my womanhood

Commend my woman-love to thy belief,—

Seeing that I stand unwon, however wooed,

And rend the garment of my life, in brief,

By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude,

Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief

If thou must love me, let it be for nought

Except for love's sake only. Do not say

'I love her for her smile—her look—her way

Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought

That falls in well with mine, and certes brought

A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'—

For these things in themselves, Beloved, may

Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought,

May be unwrought so. Neither love me for

Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,—

A creature might forget to weep, who bore

Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!

But love me for love's sake, that evermore

Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.

A heavy heart, Belovèd, have I borne

From year to year until I saw thy face,

And sorrow after sorrow took the place

Of all those natural joys as lightly worn

As the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turn

By a beating heart at dance-time. Hopes apace

Were changed to long despairs, till God's own grace

Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn

My heavy heart. Then thou didst bid me bring

And let it drop adown thy calmly great

Deep being! Fast it sinketh, as a thing

Which its own nature doth precipitate,

Which thine doth close above it, mediating

Betwixt the stars and the unaccomplished fate.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with a passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints, —- I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.