I am sore tempted, world,
To leave you and your woes.
To find a quiet Tudor house
And bury myself in solitude.
The sound of silence is alluring,
As is the gentle seclusion.
The forgetting of the race of man
And being naught but myself.
I should love to immerse
In nature, words, and music,
And let you, O chaotic world,
Run your own frantic race.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yes, charming, you set a great mood. But realisticly? ? Forgetting the race of man and being naught but yourself? ? You planning on building that Tudor house with naught but yourself? ? And think about all the interesting poetic subjects you'd be missing out there in naught but nature. -landrey