Sunday, September 22, 2013
[not my picture . . . but what I'm seeing everywhere!]
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.
William Bliss Carmen was a Fredericton New Brunswick poet born in 1861, just before Canadian Confederation.
This is the kind of poetry that every Canadian school child memorized in the 50s and 60s . . . and of course when my maple leaves are turning red and the wild asters in my garden are blooming, it all comes back to me!
I'll be at the golf course this afternoon -- swinging a club and listening to the Canada geese overhead as they practice their V formations for imminent departure south!