Fallen Majesty

Poem 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 gipsy camping place
Babbling of fallen majesty, records what’s gone.
The lineaments, the heart that laughter has made sweet,
These, these remain, but I record what’s gone. A crowd
Will gather and not know that through its very street
Once walked a thing that seemed, as it were, a burning cloud.