Poem fractal
0.013 apart. A smaller distance means the lines are built more alike.
This number is read from the build of the lines. The bright edge is that number, carried outward until the pattern repeats.
Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.
Love in my heart was a fresh tide flowing
Where the starlike sea gulls soar;
The sun was keen and the foam was blowing
High on the rocky shore.
But now in the dusk the tide is turning,
Lower the sea gulls soar,
And the waves that rose in resistless yearning
Are broken forevermore.
Shee sighes, and has blown over now
The stormes, that threatned in her brow:
The Heaven's now serene, and clear,
And bashfull blushes do appear.
Th'errour sh' has found
That did mee wound.
Thus in her od'rous sigh my hopes are crown'd.
Now shee relents, for now I hear
Repentance whisper in my ear.
Happie repentance! that begets
By this sweet airie motion heats,
And does destroy
Her heresie,
That my Faith's branded with inconstancie.
When Thisbe's Pyramus was slain,
This sigh has fetcht him back again:
And such a sigh from Dido's chest
Wafted the Trojan to her breast.
Each of her sighes
My Love does prize
Reward for thousand, thousand cruelties.
Sigh on, my Sweet, and by thy breath
Immortall grown I'l laugh at death:
Had Fame so sweet a one, wee should
In that regard learn to be good.
Sigh on, my Fair,
Henceforth, I swear,
I could Cameleon turne, and live by Air.
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.
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.
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.
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