THE PIMPERNEL.
115
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.
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.
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 the quick tears blur;
The sun that lights the world for her;
She sweeps the rose-flushed ocean wide
With eager eyes the 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.
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.
With heavier grief than tongue can tell,
She sinks,—upon her lips a prayer,
Her cheek against the pimpernel.
