Go, fetch to me a pint o' wine, And fill it in a silver tassie, That I may drink before I go A service to my bonie lassie! The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry, The ship rides by the Berwick-Law, And I maun leave my bonie Mary.
The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The glittering spears are rankèd ready, The shouts o' war are heard afar, The battle closes deep and bloody. It's not the roar o' sea or shore Wad mak me langer wish to tarry, Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar: It's leaving thee, my bonie Mary!
Send her a valentine to say You love her in the same old way. Just drop the long familiar ways And live again the old-time days When love was new and youth was bright And all was laughter and delight, And treat her as you would if she Were still the girl that used to be.
Pretend that all the years have passed Without one cold and wintry blast; That you are coming still to woo Your sweetheart as you used to do; Forget that you have walked along The paths of life where right and wrong And joy and grief in battle are, And play the heart without a scar.
Be what you were when youth was fine And send to her a valentine; Forget the burdens and the woe That have been given you to know And to the wife, so fond and true, The pledges of the past renew. 'Twill cure her life of every ill To find that you're her sweetheart still.
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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.