| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | The Gypsy | | By Beatrice Ravenel |
| | | “WHERE do I live when I’m at home?” | |
| The gypsy laughed to me. | |
| “My heartstone’s set in the good red loam, | |
| And the sky was raised for my own roof-tree. | |
| As he hoists his shell on a shiny track, | 5 |
| I carry the sky, like a snail, on my back, | |
| Till it dabbles its eaves in the sea. | |
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| “And when dark comes down, and its arch grows thin, | |
| I haven’t a place to be lonesome in; | |
| For I look through the moon like a clean glass pane | 10 |
| And a candle set | |
| In the house of a friend where I’ll come again— | |
| (But, Lord, not yet, | |
| While the earth is warm to my side and kind!) | |
| And the mischievous star in the curving tree | 15 |
| Is the spark of a wild faun’s pipe maybe— | |
| He with a mind | |
| To happen in for an hour or two | |
| Without any words, as a pal might do. | |
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| “Where I wake with a baby fern-leaf curled | 20 |
| In my rumpled palm, as a child could come— | |
| That’s where I live when I’m at home, | |
| Right in the world!” | | | | |
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