| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | 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 gipsy camping place | |
| Babbling of fallen majesty, records what’s gone. | |
| The lineaments, the heart that laughter has made sweet, | 5 |
| 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. | | | | |
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