In the heart of the birds, that range
This garden, is ever change;
‘Tis one with the rose at breast,
And other within the nest.

Look thou to thyself intent;
Of the world what cause to lament?
There’s a different world to see,
Be there change of sight in thee.

Each moment, if but thine eye
Regardeth attentively,
Changeth the tavern road
And the Magian’s wonted mode.

The caravan’s leader greet
With my blessing, and then repeat:
"Though the way unchanged remain,
‘Tis a different caravan!"