“A Vagabond Song” | POEM of the week

by Bliss Carman

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.

photo taken October 2012; light & size edited in Apple Photos in October 2018

"How beautifully the leaves grow old! How full of light and color are their last days!"

John Burroughs