Friedrich Rückert (1789–1866)

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.