W.B. Yeats (1865–1939). Responsibilities and Other Poems. 1916.

24. Fallen Majesty

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.