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“The hare objects: ‘A secret’s not for every clod. Odd even is at times; and sometimes even’s odd. Too closely with a mirror should thou converse hold, From prudery it umbrage takes, grows dull; the scold. On matters three, allow not oft thy lips to speak: First, going; gold, next; third, the path thou have to seek. These all have sundry enemies and deadly foes, Who’ll lie in ambush, each, if he thy purpose knows. If thou ‘Adieu’ to only one or two should call, Remember: “Two’s a secret; three is none at all.” […]’ Some hours he now let pass before he took his leave; Then to the lion went, their honor to retrieve.”“The path is smoothed beneath which lurks a deadly trap. A missive’s filled with compliments; all mere clap-trap. Bland messages, smooth words, are but a hook or snare. Civility’s a sandbank; life’s bark’s oft wrecked there, The sand from which a spring of water’s seen to flow Is rare to find. Go, seek such. Where? I do not know. A seeker after wisdom, is, of wisdom, fount. ‘Humanities’ he shuns; them, he does trash account. A memory replete with holy Qur’an’s lore A ‘hidden tablet’ is; its mind is wisdom’s store. If man begin as pupil to good common sense, He’ll end by being teacher, mind, his audience.”
