When my mom saw the poem I posted last time, she searched around to find this one. My brothers and I memorized it when we were in elementary school ... and I still remember the rhythm in which I recited it... it paints a great picture of Autumn.
'A Vagabond Song' -Bliss Carman
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 maple 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.