Bliss Carman: A Vagabond Song

 A Vagabond Song

There is something in the autumn
that is native to my blood —
Touch of manner, hint of mood;
And my heart is like a rhyme,
With the yellow and the purple
and the crimson keeping time.

The scarlet of the maples
can shake me like a cry
Of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills
To see the frosty asters
like a smoke upon the hills.

There is something in October
sets the gypsy blood astir;
We must rise and follow her,
When from every hill of flame
She calls and calls
each vagabond by name.

Bliss Carman
(1861-1929)
A Vagabond Song

fleursdumal.nl magazine

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