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.