Governed by a pair of analogies—a flower is like the sun and, in turn, that sun-flower is like the soul—“Heliotropians” brings into relation Pulter’s abiding interest in botanical natural history, which is perhaps best expressed in The Garden, or The Contention of Flowers [Poem 12], and intense religious devotion. If only, at more granular levels, this poem’s meaning were as unambiguous as this poetic logic would suggest it to be. Consider, for example, the first analogy. It likens “this simple,” or a medicinal preparation consisting of a single botanical ingredient, to the journey of the sun. Its logic is straightforward, commonplace even: where the sun goes, so too does the flower’s bloom and leaves. Pulter’s heliotrope, however, behaves like no other heliotrope—nay, flower—that I know. She defies the laws of physics. Rooted deep inside the Earth (its “center”), this flower tracks the sun in the sky over the course of the day and then, fantastically, continues its pursuit beyond the horizon. When the sun arrives to the antipodes, or the exact spot on the Earth’s surface that is opposite to where the speaker is, the heliotrope follows, presumably having bored through an “earthly bed” and finding on the other side “earth or sea” to push through—it doesn’t matter which—to hitch herself once more to the sun’s luminous wagon. It seems as if the heliotrope will never stop chasing the sun, and, because of this valued capacity for “constant love,” the flower is, in the second analogy, likened to “those souls which are to God united.” As subsequent glosses indicate, this second analogy is no more uncomplicated than the first: it is infused with biblical reference and its build-up to a new, brighter “horoscope” taxes the poem’s syntax. As “Wheels, gibbets, precipices, crosses, [and] flame” break the bodies of martyrs, so too do they interrupt the flow of poetic utterance.
As extraordinary as Pulter’s analogy featuring the heliotrope is, it is not unique to this poem. A remarkably similar version appears in A Solitary Discourse [Poem 44], which is recorded earlier in the manuscript. Many of Pulter’s poems can be said to be variations on a theme, but nowhere else in the collection is such overlap, especially in diction and conceit, as substantial. It would be an instructive exercise to contrast Pulter’s use of the heliotrope, called in “A Solitary Discourse” “solsequium,” across these manuscript pages. In light of the poems’ shared interest in cyclicality and repetition, it is fitting that Pulter revisit, perhaps revise, and even resurrect in “The Heliotropians” the image of a flower that fabulously tails the sun to “th’other hemisphere.” — Leah Knight and Wendy Wall