'What do you see in that time-touched stone, <br />When nothing is there <br />But ashen blankness, although you give it <br />A rigid stare? <br /> <br />'You look not quite as if you saw, <br />But as if you heard, <br />Parting your lips, and treading softly <br />As mouse or bird. <br /> <br />'It is only the base of a pillar, they'll tell you, <br />That came to us <br />From a far old hill men used to name <br />Areopagus.' <br /> <br /> <br />- 'I know no art, and I only view <br />A stone from a wall, <br />But I am thinking that stone has echoed <br />The voice of Paul, <br /> <br />'Paul as he stood and preached beside it <br />Facing the crowd, <br />A small gaunt figure with wasted features, <br />Calling out loud <br /> <br />'Words that in all their intimate accents <br />Pattered upon <br />That marble front, and were far reflected, <br />And then were gone. <br /> <br />'I'm a labouring man, and know but little, <br />Or nothing at all; <br />But I can't help thinking that stone once echoed <br />The voice of Paul.'<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-british-museum/
