There’s Something About the Autumn

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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