A Vagabond Song, by Carmen Bliss
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.
5 comments:
Thats just right pretty girl. I can feel autumn in your writing. Paula
Wonderful........................Stormie
Oh, I didn't write this - it's by Carmen Bliss. I remember reading it when I was a kid, and thinking - wow! it spoke to me then as much as it speaks to me now. I put the author and title in a more prominent place. My bad, it was too small for folks to see, but i didn't think about that when posting.
love that poem
lizzzza
http://journals.aol.com/philadlfiagrl/lizaslife
Very, very nice. :)
Dianne
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