I traced the Circus whose gray stones incline <br />Where Rome and dim Etruria interjoin, <br />Till came a child who showed an ancient coin <br />That bore the image of a Constantine. <br /> <br />She lightly passed; nor did she once opine <br />How, better than all books, she had raised for me <br />In swift perspective Europe's history <br />Through the vast years of Caesar's sceptred line. <br /> <br />For in my distant plot of English loam <br />'Twas but to delve, and straightway there to find <br />Coins of like impress. As with one half blind <br />Whom common simples cure, her act flashed home <br />In that mute moment to my opened mind <br />The power, the pride, the reach of perished Rome.<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-old-theatre-fiesole-april-1887/
