I <br /> <br />Love, was it yesternoon, or years agone, <br /> You took in yours my hands, <br />And placed me close beside you on the throne <br /> Of Oriental lands? <br /> <br />The truant hour came back at dawn to-day, <br /> Across the hemispheres, <br />And bade my sleeping soul retrace its way <br /> These many hundred years. <br /> <br />And all my wild young life returned, and ceased <br /> The years that lie between, <br />When you were King of Egypt, and The East, <br /> And I was Egypt's queen. <br /> <br />II <br /> <br />I feel again the lengths of silken gossamer enfold <br />My body and my limbs in robes of emerald and gold. <br />I feel the heavy sunshine, and the weight of languid heat <br />That crowned the day you laid the royal jewels at my feet. <br /> <br />You wound my throat with jacinths, green and glist'ning serpent-wise, <br />My hot, dark throat that pulsed beneath the ardour of your eyes; <br />And centuries have failed to cool the memory of your hands <br />That bound about my arms those massive, pliant golden bands. <br /> <br />You wreathed around my wrists long ropes of coral and of jade, <br />And beaten gold that clung like coils of kisses love-inlaid; <br />About my naked ankles tawny topaz chains you wound, <br />With clasps of carven onyx, ruby-rimmed and golden bound. <br /> <br />But not for me the Royal Pearls to bind about my hair,<br /><br />Emily Pauline Johnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-king-s-consort/