In The Old Theatre Fiesole

 I traced the Circus whose gray stones incline 
Where Rome and dim Etruria interjoin, 
Till came a child who showed an ancient coin 
That bore the image of a Constantine.
 

She lightly passed; nor did she once opine 
How, better than all books, she had raised for me 
In swift perspective Europe's history 
Through the vast years of Caesar's sceptred line.
 

For in my distant plot of English loam 
'Twas but to delve, and straightway there to find 
Coins of like impress.
 As with one half blind 
Whom common simples cure, her act flashed home 
In that mute moment to my opened mind 
The power, the pride, the reach of perished Rome.

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