Who mourns? Flow on, delicious breeze! Who mourns though youth and strength go by? Fresh leaves invest the vernal trees, Fresh airs will drown my latest sigh: This frame is but a part outworn Of earth's great whole that lifts more high A tempest-freshened brow each morn To meet pure beams and azure sky.
Thou world-renewing breath, sweep on, And waft earth's sweetness o'er the wave! That earth will circle round the sun When God takes back the life He gave! To each his turn! Even now I feel The feet of children press my grave, And one deep whisper o'er it steal— "The soul is His who died to save."
The old men of the world have made a fire To warm their trembling hands. They poke the young men in. The young men burn like withes.
If one run a little way, The old men are wrath. They catch him and bind him and throw him again to the flames. Green withes burn slow… And the smoke of the young men's torment Rises round and sheer as the trunk of a pillared oak, And the darkness thereof spreads over the sky….
Green withes burn slow… And the old men of the world sit round the fire And rub their hands…. But the smoke of the young men's torment Ascends up for ever and ever.
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Track 1
How this picture is made
What a fractal is
A fractal is a shape that keeps its pattern when you look closer. Coastlines, trees, shells, and weather do this. The large form and the small form are the same kind of thing. A poem can be drawn that way. The shape of the whole comes from the shape of the lines.
Primunia is the name for the source of that order: the pattern under the pattern, already there in a tree, a shell, and a verse.
How the boundary is drawn
The number under the picture is the poem constant. It is read from the build of the lines: their length, how uneven they are, the size of the stanzas, the share of vowels, and the way the lines end. A new word moves the number when it changes that build. The same poem always gives the same number.
Drawn on its own, that number sits in a quiet part of the plane, and most poems would look like the same soft disk. So the number is carried outward along its own direction until it meets the edge of the Mandelbrot set, where the shape turns sharp. The picture is the Julia set of that meeting place.
Each point on the canvas is folded again and again by one small rule. Points that stay near the rule form the dark interior. Points that rush away become the coloured bands. The hue comes from the poem constant, and the brightest bands turn toward gold. Change the length of a line, the stanza, or the vowel share, and both the number and the picture move.
What the branching signifies
Branching draws the poem as a tree. Each turn follows a line, and every smaller branch repeats that pattern. A longer line reaches farther. The letters at the start of a line bend the next turn. A higher share of vowels opens the branches wider.
The trunk takes its colour from the poem constant and warms toward gold at the tips. When the poem has more than one stanza, gold forks leave the trunk. Each fork is a stanza beyond the first, up to three. The tree divides where the poem divides. One stanza remains a single trunk.