rednaz23: that's the best poem i've read in a long time. it's fast and to the point. i like it. :0)

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

My Lost Youth

Poem lyrics of My Lost Youth by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Often I think of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
And a verse of a Lapland song
Is haunting my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,
And catch, in sudden gleams,
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,
And islands that were the Hesperides
Of all my boyish dreams.
And the burden of that old song,
It murmurs and whispers still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the black wharves and the ships,
And the sea-tides tossing free;
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.
And the voice of that wayward song
Is singing and saying still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the bulwarks by the shore,
And the fort upon the hill;
The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er,
And the bugle wild and shrill.
And the music of that old song
Throbs in my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the sea-fight far away,
How it thundered o'er the tide!
And the dead captains, as they lay
In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay
Where they in battle died.
And the sound of that mournful song
Goes through me with a thrill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the breezy dome of groves,
The shadows of Deering's Woods;
And the friendships old and the early loves
Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves
In quiet neighborhoods.
And the verse of that sweet old song,
It flutters and murmurs still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the gleams and glooms that dart
Across the school-boy's brain;
The song and the silence in the heart,
That in part are prophecies, and in part
Are longings wild and vain.
And the voice of that fitful song
Sings on, and is never still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

Strange to me now are the forms I meet
When I visit the dear old town;
But the native air is pure and sweet,
And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street,
As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and whispering still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair,
And with joy that is almost pain
My heart goes back to wander there,
And among the dreams of the days that were,
I find my lost youth again.
And the strange and beautiful song,
The groves are repeating it still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

ScarletRose: hello, how are you/ :0)

The unfortunate pain, the unfortunate sorrow. it takes control of my life, then it is gone . yet another day of sorrow, will sorrow some again tomorrow? now searching answers to questions in hope for a situation to go from dark to bright. to lie here with eyes closed still awake; to wonder how much more of this misery i will be able to take. so sad were the dreams i once had; dreams that kept me me alive when things went bad, -falling flat when trying to achieve those dreams. never would you become mad . Lord can you tell me why dreams can be so sad.

So tomorrow is another day,
pain and sorrow has went away, and this is how i sing myself to sleep? this is very sad ? what happened to the dreams that i had? my dreams went away/ will they come again another day? why is it i have to go away? unsatisfied minds want it that way. what is it you have say? whatever it is don't expect it to brighten another day.

and this is how i sing myself to sleep/

The Usurper: it's okay, have backbone,
not lackbone. :0)

The Usurper: the quote comes from the picture of dorian gray. you're still the smartest one on this page.

رضا: i've know people that read farsi, and tried to explain to me, but couldn't.
didn't sound very good to my ears. but i'll get off this subject. i enjoy the music, and calligraphy, more than the poetry.

The Usurper: don't know, just made it up. sorry. :0)

The Usurper: do you know who are the most beautiful people in the world are?
this was asked to a certain person in one of my fav. books. if you can name the book and the characters you're a genius.

رضا: after re-reading the poem, i have to say, it was badly written, but it has a good point. was drinking gin last night :0) but! on regards to your saying beautifully written words, are not poetry; for the reason they don't rhyme; i don't think you know what you're talking about. sorry, take no offence. :0) farsi poetry from what i heard is the best of all languages. only when it's kept in true text. english doesn't translate it well, simply because we don't have the right words to describe what's going on. i'll admit that. some say poetry came from iraq, others persia, etc... they were the teachers, and inventors of our wonderful myths we have today! so, i'll agree of the great beauty of what you were writing of. :0)

رضا: any words that are beautifully written,
can be a poem. am i right?

There are times when you have to let go of the love you have grown so used to.
There are times when joyous moments turn flatly undesirable, dreams for the future cease, only to be forgotten.

In these times a heart that once beat in harmony with the universe, now is hallow, and echoes hurt.
The heart falls on hard ground, shattering, scattered pieces, later turning to dirt.

There are times love turns to hate, caring is no longer necessary, and comfort goes away.

Now lord, I ask this of you. Can you bring my heart back from the dirt? Take away every ounce of echoed hurt? Replace the comfort; the caring, the joyous moments I so loved?

My lord, now finally I can feel peace. Now I can leave this world, my heart hurts no more.
The lord has answered my prayers, giving me everything I have asked for.

MindSpy