Chidher, the ever youthful, told: I passed a city, bright to see. A man was culling fruits of gold; I asked him how old this town might be. He answered, culling as before: "This town stood ever in days of yore, And will stand on forevermore!" Five hundred years from yonder day I passed again the self-same way, And of the town I found no trace. A shepherd blew on a reed instead; His herd was grazing on the place. "How long," I asked, "is the city dead?" He answered, blowing as before: "The new crop grows the old one o'er; This was my pasture evermore!" Five hundred years from yonder day I passed again the self-same way. A sea I found; the tide was full, A sailor emptied nets with cheer; And when he rested from his pull, I asked how long that sea were here. Then laughed he with a hearty roar: "As long as waves have washed this shore They fished here ever in days of yore." Five hundred years from yonder day I passed again the self-same way. I found a forest settlement, And o'er his axe, a tree to fell, I saw a man in labour bent. How old this wood I bade him tell. "'Tis everlasting; long before I lived, it stood in days of yore," He quoth; "and shall grow evermore." Five hundred years from yonder day I passed again the self-same way. I saw a town; the market-square Was swarming with a noisy throng. "How long," I asked, "has this town been there? Where are wood and sea and shepherd's song?" I heard them cry among the roar: "This town was ever so before, And so will live forevermore." Five hundred years from yonder day I want to pass the self-same way. |