Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (18691948). The Little Book of Modern Verse. 1917. |
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149. A Vagabond Song |
| By Bliss Carman |
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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. | |
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The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry | 5 |
Of bugles going by. | |
And my lonely spirit thrills | |
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills. | |
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There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir; | |
We must rise and follow her, | 10 |
When from every hill of flame | |
She calls and calls each vagabond by name. | |
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