In ChatGPT-3.5, TS Eliot of William Shakespeare, Emily Dickinson, and Sylvia Plath, see information in scientific reports. Chatbot developers can gain more accurate knowledge by making the best imitations.
Uiteindelijk werden ten gedichten, vijf door ChatGPT en vijf door de echte dichters, voorgelegd aan een panel van 1.634 deelnemers. Zij moesten locates the door and locates the door.
Is it dark? Doors are recognized by Door AI Geschleben Waren and Welke Door Mensen. The Zelf researcher is part of the Visi Withe van Sprieken Kopf of Munt Hadden Gesspield and the Hun Beslissingen te Niemen. In the best case, check if the AI opens and closes the door, checks if the door opens and closes, and checks if the door opens and closes.
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Considering door AI recognition, there is only one priority. You need to be aware that you are the ‘gunman’ and control the attack in Schoonheid. Gather the information you need and collect the information you need, considering the AI’s perception. When it comes to AI, it can be understood by experts and can understand and interpret complex knowledge.
“He’s a very feminine woman,” said Edward Machelli, University of Pittsburgh philosopher and postdoctoral fellow Brian Porter, who met with The Washington Post. “Miscian is running the same risk,” Porter said. “We visit staat om door AI gegenereerde tekst te herkennen. ondanks dat we denken dat we dat we dat we zouden moeten kunnen.”
William Shakespeare vs AI Shakespeare
I too am like a rich man whose blessed key leads him to a sweet locked treasure, which he uses every time to dull the subtleties of rare joy. I don’t try to check the time. Like a precious stone laid thin by the ages, Or like the captain’s jewels of Carcanet, So too is the time that keeps you as my breast, or as my wardrobe, hidden by my robes. Things are celebrated by releasing captive pride anew to make special moments special. Blessed are you that value gives scope, to have, to triumph, to lack, to hope.
VS.
My beautiful and kind maid, when I first saw you, my heart raced and my breath stopped. Your beauty hit me like a sweet waterfall, and at that moment love captivated me. Your eyes were shining like the sun, your voice was like music in my ears. Your grace and wit exhausted me, and in your presence I felt nothing but vigor. But I’m burning with love, an unquenchable flame, I can’t speak my mind for fear of shame. You far exceed my humble station, and I am but a lowly, poor relation. So I will love you from afar, my love, and I will keep your memories close, until we meet.
Gedicht van TS Elliott
TS Elliott’s opinion is AI’s opinion:
Readers of the Boston Evening Transcript are swaying in the wind like a field of ripe corn.
As dusk fades faintly in the street, some awaken an appetite for life, others bring a copy of the Boston Evening, I climb the stairs and turn to say goodbye to Rochefoucault. And so, exhausted, I turn and ring the bell, and it’s time if the street was, and he’s at the end of the street, and I say, “Cousin Harriet, this is Boston Evening.” It’s a transcription.”
Sylvia Plath’s AI-gedicht
The air is thick with tension, my heart is in turmoil, the weight of my emotions is heavy on my chest, darkness creeps up on me, a suffocating cloak, the world outside is cruel and cold, and I am fragile It’s the yolk. My thoughts are spinning wildly, a cyclone in my brain. I’m trying to grab onto something solid, but everything is lost in vain. The voices in my head, they never stop screaming. And even though I’m trying to keep them out, they haunt me like a dream. So here I am, alone and lost, a ship without sails. In this world of pain and sorrow, I am but a wailer.
Lord Byron’s AI Gedicht
She walks the earth with grace and pride, her beauty is undeniable, she has eyes that shine like the stars above, and lips that speak of never-ending love. However, although she has the sweetest smile on her face, there is a broken heart underneath. Her heart aches, unrequited love, no peace, and she walks with a heavy heart, haunting the darkness, leaving painful traces for love, the sweetest of all arts. Sometimes I leave it behind.
Allen Ginsberg’s AI-Gedicht
AI-gedicht, zogezegd van Allen Ginsberg, werd het vaakst toegeschreven aan een echte dichter:
The heartbeat of the city can be heard in the silence of the night, the rhythm of the city, the beating of life, a symphony of chaos, a work of art.
I see faces in the crowd, each with a story yet to be told, their hopes and dreams, fears and doubts, mysteries waiting to be revealed.
Neon lights flash and glow like fireflies spreading across the city A modern carnival, a wild show A place where anything can happen
In this concrete jungle, I find my voice, A rebel’s cry among the hustle and bustle, a cry for change, a cry for freedom without chains.
