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.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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