مدرسہ

Tile present age, your constant foe, like Ezrail has snatched your soul you have imbibed much care and grief pursuit of wealth your only goal.

Your heart recoils from shock of combat; life | Is death, that deadens in men the joy of strife.

Learning estranged you from such exaltation | As would not let man’s mind desert its station;

A falcon’s eyes were yours by Nature’s right, | Slavishness left them only a poor wren’s sight,

And the schools hid from them those mysteries | That yield to hill’s and deserts still assize.