Love, strong as Death, is dead. Come, let us make his bed Among the dying flowers: A green turf at his head; And a stone at his feet, Whereon we may sit In the quiet evening hours.
He was born in the Spring, And died before the harvesting: On the last warm summer day He left us; he would not stay For autumn twilight, cold and gray. Sit we by his grave, and sing He is gone away.
To few chords and sad and low Sing we so: Be our eyes fixed on the grass Shadow-veiled as the years pass, While we think of all that was In the long ago.
Beauty sat bathing by a spring Where fairest shades did hide her, The winds blew calm, the birds did sing, The cool streams ran beside her.
My wanton thoughts enticed my eye To see what was forbidden, But better memory cried fie, So vain delights were chidden.
Into a slumber then I fell, But fond imagination Seemed to see, but could not tell Her feature or her fashion.
But even as babes in dreams do smile And sometime fall a-weeping, So I awaked as wise the while As when I fell a-sleeping.
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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.