When I had slept beneath the low-boughed cedar:

The moon-pale brows, o'er which the clustered hair

Hung like the smoke of torches, ruddy-gold,

Against a canopy of peacock plumes:

The deep brown, burning eyes,

From which the soul looked on me in fierce pity.

And, as I gazed on that exultant beauty,

The hunter and the slayer of men

Was slain within me instantly,

And I forgot the mountains and my home;

My desolate mother, and my father's death;

My captive sisters ... and the thronèd King!

I was as one, that moment,

New-born into the world

Full-limbed and thewed,

Yet, with the wondering heart

Of earth-bewildered childhood.

And, unto me, it seemed

That, as the Queen looked down on me,

There stole into her eyes

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