My wind is turned to bitter north, That was so soft a south before; My sky, that shone so sunny bright, With foggy gloom is clouded o’er: My gay green leaves are yellow-black, Upon the dank autumnal floor; For love, departed once, comes back No more again, no more.
A roofless ruin lies my home, For winds to blow and rains to pour; One frosty night befell, and lo! I find my summer days are o’er: The heart bereaved, of why and how Unknowing, knows that yet before It had what e’en to Memory now Returns no more, no more.
Weep no more, thou sorry boy, Love's pleased and angered with a toy Love a thousand passions brings, Laughs and weeps and sighs and sings. If she smiles he dancing goes, Not thinking on his future woes. If she chide with angry eye, Sits down and sighs: “Ay me, I die!”
Yet again, as soon revived, Joys as much as late he grieved. Change there is of joy and sadness, Sorrow much, but more of gladness. Then weep no more, thou sorry boy, Turn thy tears to weeping joy. Sigh no more "Ah me! I die!" But dance, and sing, and ti-hy cry.
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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.