Fallen Majesty

by William Butler Yeats

　　

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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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