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Poem	(A. D. 406) "A Centurion of the Thirtieth" -- Puck of Pook's Hill My father's father saw it not, And I, belike, shall never come To look on that so-holly spot-- That very Rome-- Crowned by all Time, all Art, all Might, The equal work of Gods and Man, City beneath whose oldest height-- The Race began! Soon to send forth again a brood, Unshakable, we pray, that clings To Rome's thrice-hammered hardihood-- In arduous things. Strong heart with triple armour bound, Beat strongly, for thy life-blood runs, Age after Age, the Empire round-- In us thy Sons Who, distant from the Seven Hills, Loving and serving much, require Thee-thee to guard 'gainst home-born ills The Imperial Fire!
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