Part 3 — A VAGABOND SONG
Reading edition
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 gipsy 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]