When I was just a little girl..mid 1960's - I couldn't have been any more than 8 or 9 yrs old - my older sister HAD to learn a poem for school.....and she asked me to help her learn it - reciting it over and over...... in our little bedroom by the light of the Christmas lights hanging from the eaves outside our window.
My older sister and I shared a bedroom in our tiny 1000 sq ft, 3 bedroom house that was heated only by a little fireplace in the living room - and every cold night at bedtime we would hold our blankets up to the fire for a few minutes and then - RUN! to bed - blanket wrapped around us - and that is how we kept warm in those cold wintry nights. Mom and Dad were in one bedroom the two boys in the second and us girls - three of us when my little sis came along - all in the third bedroom.
It was one of those types of evenings, by the light of the Christmas lights outside our window that I memorized this poem......
The Poet was Canadian: Bliss Carmen (1861-1929)
My older sister and I shared a bedroom in our tiny 1000 sq ft, 3 bedroom house that was heated only by a little fireplace in the living room - and every cold night at bedtime we would hold our blankets up to the fire for a few minutes and then - RUN! to bed - blanket wrapped around us - and that is how we kept warm in those cold wintry nights. Mom and Dad were in one bedroom the two boys in the second and us girls - three of us when my little sis came along - all in the third bedroom.
It was one of those types of evenings, by the light of the Christmas lights outside our window that I memorized this poem......
The Poet was Canadian: Bliss Carmen (1861-1929)
The poem: The Vagabond Song (circa 1919)
I am not sure that my sister remembers it....but I certainly do, and recite it - with drama! - EVERY fall since then....usually every October 1st ....and remember.....
I will never forget it....the poem touches my soul....Bliss Carmen has a way with words....
THE 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 the rhyme
With the Yellow and the Purple and the Crimson keeping time.
The scarlet of the maples
Can shake me like the cry
of Bugles going by
And my lonely spirit thrills to see the frosty asters
Like smoke upon the hills...........
There is something in October that 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.
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| the Leaves outside our house |
3 comments:
Hahaha. Too funny, maybe because I can pretty much picture this scenario.
gypsy blood astir? I actually have gypsy blood in me....in-ter-est-ing.
The smell of Maple Leaves in Fall....always get me going.... :)
Well yeah. All Canadians adore the smell of maple leaves, not the look ya know, just the smell. Hehe
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