Explore "A Vagabond Song" by Bliss Carman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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.