I call myself a Tranquilist;
With deep detachment I exist,
From friction free;
While others court the gilded throng
And worship Women, Wine and Song,
I scorn the three.
For I have reached the sober age
When I prefer to turn a page
Beside the fire,
And from the busy mart of men
To meditative book and pen
With grace retire.
If you are craving peace of mind,
In Tranquilism you will find
Serenely fold your hands and wait
Be cloistered calm whatever fate
The Gods decree.
And though the world with rage be rent,
Hold it remote and claim content
With quiet heart;
You can’t do much to better it,
But your good-will may help a bit,
Ere you depart.
So let us who are old and sere
To din of battle shut the ear,
And trumpet vain;
And though in no monastic mood
Accept the balm of solitude
And grace regain.
Let us be Tranquilists and try
In placid places to apply
Life’s wisdom won;
In Nature’s bounty we may bless
The Gods and wait with thankfulness
Our setting sun.