شنیدم مرگ با یزدان چنین گفتچہ بی نم چشم ن کز گل بزاید
The death once said to God in this way,How shameless his eyes’ though made from clay.
چو جان او بگیرم شرمسارمولی او را ز مردن عار ناید
When I take out his soul I feel a shame,He feels no shame, but, to die with bad name.
From Armaghan-e-Hijaz (Persian) (1938) by Allama Muhammad Iqbal · verified text, Iqbal Academy Pakistan