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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LETTER TO JOSEPH WARREN by ROBERT FROST SMALL COUNTRIES by JAMES GALVIN BROTHERHOOD by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TRIFLE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 1. SEATTLE by CLARENCE MAJOR THE NIGHT MOTHS by EDWIN MARKHAM A MAN CHILD IS BORN (1809) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |