Was new and strange; and even the tuft of pines
That used to guide him to his last year’s nest
Had vanished from the crags he knew no more.
There, pondering on the changes of the world,
Young Avicenna, with a kinglier eye,
Saw in the lapse of ages the great hills
Melting away like waves; and, from the sea,
New lands arising; and the whole dark earth
Dissolving, and reshaping all its realms
Around him, like a dream.