tisdag 3 oktober 2017

Den tredje oktober

The New Yorker Cover, October 4 1976 

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 Carman

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