First, be a prince,
with pleasures, treasures, all desires.
Then, be a priest,
with holy thoughts of love divine.
Third, a peasant,
with simple needs and natural ways.
Last, as poet,
combine the three—or curse your fate.
It looked like a mountain
with garden terraces
A holiday setting
and dazzling in sunshine
Where one could be at ease
to stroll and meet old friends
Exploring all the paths
unhurried by the years
Feeling the light within
increase with heightened joy
While going up and on
from terrace to terrace.