I know now that I had the heart of an artist since birth. So a little time back I remembered the snippet of a poem I read in third grade that haunted me every autumn, trying to remember, "How did that go? Something like: "There's something in autumn wind that sets gypsy blood astir." So I decided to try and find it by putting a couple words at a time in the search engine, and after many tries (I was on a mission and not about to give up) I finally found it!!! My memory was pretty close. And it still speaks to my soul as it did then. Here it is then, one of the lesser known poems, but my favorite, of one of my all time favorite poets, Bliss Carman, of Canada. His other stuff is wonderful, too.
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.