Poems
Wild Geese
by Elinor Chipp
I heard the wild geese flying In the dead of the night, With beat of
wings and crying
I heard the wild geese flying, And dreams in my heart sighing Followed
their northward flight. I heard the wild geese flying
In the dead of the night.
A Vagabond Song
by Bliss Carman
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 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.
The Sea Gypsy
by Richard Hovey
I am fevered with the sunset, I am fretful with the bay, For the
wander-thirst is on me And my soul is in Cathay.
There’s a schooner in the offing, With her top-sails shot with fire, And
my heart has gone aboard her For the Islands of Desire.
I must forth again tomorrow! With the sunset I must be, Hull down on the
trail of rapture In the wonder of the Sea.
Home Thoughts from Abroad
by Robert Browning
Oh, to be in England
Now that April’s there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brush-wood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole
are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In
England—now!
