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Updated: May 16, 2025
O aloe-flower upon her brow! Of what strange birth-pangs breathest thou, The while we gaze with dreamy eyes Back o'er a sea of memories, And see thy seed of foreign skies Here washt, to spring beneath our sun And ripen till its bloom is won! What storms have rocked thy stem aslant, O changeful-nurtured Century-Plant! Whose living flower now opens bland Its kindly promise o'er the land! With blood and tears 'twas watered, The bud whose blossom now is spread A floral cap her head upon, Who,
The Quaker City of the dove, That fain would call a land to fling Its spites away, and 'neath thy wing Renew the treaty made by Penn In the wildwood with wilder men; Yet true men still! Be this the token loyal faith, a pledge unbroken! O year that wear'st thy aloe-flower So proudly! may thy touch have power Of healing!
The great door of the hall, silently, without apparent reason, swings wide open, like a great curious eye unclosing to watch this beautiful marvel of their love, expanded so suddenly, like a huge aloe-flower. It lets in a flood of moonlight, and the glimmering vision of the vapourous green-lit nocturnal Spring-world. "Who went out?... Who came in?" cries Sieglinde, starting in alarm.
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