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.

Auteur: Bliss Carman

THERE is something in the autumn that is native to my blood— <br />Touch of manner, hint of mood; <br />And my heart is like a rhyme, <br />With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time. - Bliss Carman

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