About Dwellings, p. 66
I am not writing about luxury holiday hotels or villas, but about primitive empty places which can be used by travelers at little cost, or none at all, if they take the trouble to search them out.
Usually there will be no water from taps and no electricity, but most likely there will be beauty of surroundings and freedom from noise and tension. And there will be contact with the country people--the true representatives of all regions.
Such simple places are what artists, writers and musicians seek, and which they, and I, have found the world over: the shining palaces.
Living in nature dwellings one has an all-important contact with the earth, its everchanging loveliness and its scents.
About Travelers, poem, pp. 204-205
You shall die, and I shall die!
Take our places in the sky.
You and she, and he and I,
When the time comes, all must die.
That’s a game we would play,
Man and woman, girl and lad,
In gypsy camps far away,
Laughing times, yet passing sad.
Poppy crowns for everyone,
Red rose for the fairest one.
We would shout King Death to come,
Laughing loudly, turn and run.
Then more the cry! Who will die?
Nor he, nor she, and not I,
Want that fearful power to fly.
We would pass the hours that way,
Bed with Gypsies by cool streams,
Golden days of dance and play,
Harp and flute and tambourines.
But poppy crowns droop and fade,
Feet grow weary, hearts afraid.
Rime kills all in Gypsy Glade,
Flower and tree, man and maid.
Gone the Gypsies, every one,
All who played the Gypsy game,
Left the earth, its mirth and fun,
Starry nights and hyacinth lane.
None can play that game alone,
Thus I want to hear the cry,
Come now! Leave thy earthly home,
Join the Gypsies in the sky.
Juliette De Bairacli Levy