Fallen Majesty

By William Butler Yeats

    Although crowds gathered once if she but showed her face,
    And even old men’s eyes grew dim, this hand alone,
    Like some last courtier at a gypsy camping place,
    Babbling of fallen majesty, records what’s gone.

    The lineaments, a heart that laughter has made sweet,
    These, these remain, but I record what’s gone. A crowd
    Will gather, and not know it walks the very street
    Whereon a thing once walked that seemed a burning cloud.

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