Celia Thaxter

(29 June 1835 – 25 August 1894 / Portsmouth, New Hampshire)

The Pimpernel


SHE walks beside the silent shore,
The tide is high, the breeze is still;
No ripple breaks the ocean-floor,
The sunshine sleeps upon the hill.

The turf is warm beneath her feet,
Bordering the beach of stone and shell,
And thick about her path the sweet
Red blossoms of the pimpernel.

“O sleep not yet, my flower!” she cries,
“Nor prophesy of storm to come;
Tell me that under steadfast skies
Fair winds shall bring my lover home.”

She stoops to gather flower and shell,
She sits, and, smiling, studies each
She hears the full tide rise and swell
And whisper softly on the beach.

Waking she dreams a golden dream,
Remembering with what still delight,
To watch the sunset’s fading gleam,
Here by the waves they stood last night.

She leans on that encircling arm,
Divinely strong with power to draw
Her nature, as the moon doth charm
The swaying sea with heavenly law.

All lost in bliss the moments glide,
She feels his whisper, his caress;
The murmur of the mustering tide
Brings her no presage of distress.

What breaks her dream? She lifts her eyes,
Reluctant to destroy the spell;
The color from her bright cheek dies, —
Close folded is the pimpernel!

With rapid glance she scans the sky:
Rises a sudden wind, and grows,
And charged with storm the cloud-heaps lie.
Well may the scarlet blossoms close!

A touch, and bliss is turned to bale!
Life only keeps the sense of pain;
The world holds naught save one white sail
Flying before the wind and rain.
Broken upon the wheel of fear
She wears the storm-vexed hour away;
And now in gold and fire draws near
The sunset of her troubled day.

But to her sky is yet denied
The sun that lights the world for her:
She sweeps the rose-flushed ocean wide
With eager eyes that quick tears blur.

And lonely, lonely all the space
Stretches, with never sign of sail,
And sadder grows her wistful face,
And all the sunset splendors fail.

And cold and pale, in still despair,
With heavier grief than tongue can tell,
She sinks, — upon her lips a prayer,
Her cheek against the pimpernel.

Wee blossoms wet with showery tears
On her shut eyes their droplets shed,
Only the wakened waves she hears
That singing drown his rapid tread.

'Sweet, I am here !' Joy’s gates swing wide,
And heaven is theirs, and all is well,
And left beside the ebbing tide
Forgotten is the pimpernel.

Submitted: Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

What do you think this poem is about?



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (The Pimpernel by Celia Thaxter )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Fibonacci: Cosmic Spiral, Lorraine Margueritte Gasrel ..
  2. Reflection On Life, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  3. Planet Hollywood Birthdays, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  4. Distant Shadows, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  5. Don't, Liilia Talts Morrison
  6. Surmounting Problems, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  7. A Reflection, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  8. Marks Of Existence, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  9. Wake Of Suicide, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  10. Love Miracle, Vian Sabri

Poem of the Day

poet Robert William Service

Just Home and Love! the words are small
Four little letters unto each;
And yet you will not find in all
The wide and gracious range of speech
Two more so tenderly complete:
...... Read complete »

 

Modern Poem

poet Paul Muldoon

 

Trending Poems

  1. Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
  2. Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
  3. The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
  4. Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
  5. A Dream Within A Dream, Edgar Allan Poe
  6. Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
  7. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
  8. Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep, Mary Elizabeth Frye
  9. Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
  10. "Hope" is the thing with feathers, Emily Dickinson

Trending Poets

[Hata Bildir]