Into a lonely cave
I’ll stake my hermitage,
If I may only have
A respite from the age.

The rage and turmoil flies
Loud clattering about--
T’Tis not that I despise
Yet choose to do without.

In my seclusion make
A quietus for one,
So long as children take
Their joy beneath the sun.

Alone and growing old
I rest my tranquil days--
The life that’s bought and sold
Leaves little room for praise.