Sunday, October 25, 2015

Sunday Morning Peace: 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

Blessings!

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