Classic Poem

The wandering Jew once said to me,
I passed through a city in the cool of the year;
A man in the garden plucked fruit from a tree.
I asked, “How long has the city been here?”
And he answered me, and he plucked away,—
“It has always stood where it stands to-day,
And here it will stand for ever and aye.”
Five hundred years rolled by, and then
I travelled the selfsame road again.

No trace of a city there I found;
A shepherd sat blowing his pipe alone,
His flock went quietly nibbling round.
I asked, “How long has the city been gone?”
And he answered me, and he piped away,—
“The new ones bloom and the old decay,
This is my pasture-ground for aye.”
Five hundred years rolled by, and then
I travelled the selfsame road again.

And I came to a sea, and the waves did roar,
And a fisherman threw his net out clear,
And when, heavy-laden, he dragged it ashore,
I asked, “How long has the sea been here?”
And he laughed, and he said, and he laughed away,—
“As long as yon billows have tossed their spray
They 've fished and they 've fished in this selfsame bay.”
Five hundred years rolled by, and then
I travelled the selfsame road again.

And I came to a forest, vast and free,
And a woodman stood in the thicket near,—
His axe he had laid at the foot of a tree.
I asked, “How long have the woods been here?”
And he answered, “These woods are a covert for aye;
My ancestors dwelt here alway,
And the trees have been here since creation's day.”
Five hundred years rolled by, and then
I travelled the selfsame road again.

And I found there a city, and far and near
Resounded the hum of toil and glee,
And I asked, “How long has the city been here,
And where is the pipe, and the wood, and the sea?”
And they answered me, as they went their way,—
“Things always have stood as they stand to-day,
And so they will stand for ever and aye.”
I 'll wait five hundred years, and then
I 'll travel the selfsame road again.