Louis Untermeyer, ed. (18851977). Modern American Poetry. 1919. | | Bliss Carman. 1861 | | 24. 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 | 5 | 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, | 10 | When from every hill of flame | | She calls and calls each vagabond by name. | |
|
|