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Poem	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 Philosophy; 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.
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