In the heart of the birds, that range this garden, is ever change; ‘Tis one with the rose at breast, an 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!’