Classic Poem

Gone is the city, gone the day,
Yet still the story and the meaning stay:
Once where a prophet in the palm shade basked
A traveler chanced at noon to rest his miles.
“What sort of people may they be,” he asked,
“In this proud city on the plains o'erspread?”
“Well, friend, what sort of people whence you came?”
“What sort?” the packman scowled; “why, knaves and fools.”
“You'll find the people here the same,” the wise man said.

Another stranger in the dusk drew near,
And pausing, cried “What sort of people here
In your bright city where yon towers arise?”
“Well, friend, what sort of people whence you came?”
“What sort?” the pilgrim smiled,
“Good, true and wise.”
“You'll find the people here the same,”
The wise man said.