Another inspiration, we possess.
O praise not peacock youth; it flits away
And leaves us but the ashes of regret,
A disappointed heart, a memory,
An empty foolish pride that lingers yet.
Upon the path, Amir, we journey far,
Weary the road where mankind wandereth;
O tell me, does it lead through Life's bazar,
Or is it the dread gate and house of Death?
AMIR.