Homo Podunkensis by Ambrose Bierce

As the poor ass that from his paddock strays Might sound abroad his field-companions’ praise, Recounting volubly their well-bred leer, Their port impressive and their wealth of ear, Mistaking for the world’s assent the clang Of echoes mocking his accurst harangue; So the dull clown, untraveled though at large, Visits the city on the ocean’s marge, Expands his eyes and marvels to remark Each coastwise schooner and each alien bark; Prates of “all nations,” wonders as he stares That native merchants sell imported wares, Nor comprehends how in his very view A foreign vessel has a foreign crew; Yet, faithful to the hamlet of his birth, Swears it superior to aught on earth, Sighs for the temples locally renowned⁠— The village school-house and the village pound⁠— And chalks upon the palaces of Rome The peasant sentiments of “Home, Sweet Home!”