Edith Nesbit

The Whirligig of Time

   BEFORE your feet,
   My love, my sweet,
      Behold! your slave bows down;
   And in his hands
   From other lands
      Brings you another crown.

   For in far climes,
   In bygone times,
      Myself was royal too:
   Oh, I have been
   A king, my queen,
      Who am a slave for you!

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