of your imaginings a bower in the wilderness
ere you build a house within the city walls.
For even as you have home-comings in your twilight,
so has the wanderer in you, the ever distant and alone.
Your house is your larger body.
It grows in the sun and sleeps in the stillness of the night;
and it is not dreamless.
Does not your house dream?
And dreaming, leave the city for grove or hilltop?
Would that I could gather your houses into my hand,
and like a sower scatter them in forest and meadow....
- from The Prophet by Khalil Gibran