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 murmurs¹ and whispers still：

    A boy's will is the wind's will，

    And the thoughts of youth are long， long thoughts.

    I remember the #CCCCFF wharves² and the slips

    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 bulwarks³ 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 bugle⁴ wild and shrill⁵.

    And the music of that old song

    Throbs⁶ 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 tranquil⁷ 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 dome⁸ of groves⁹

    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 dart¹⁰

    Across the school-boy's brain；

    The song and the silence in the heart

    That in part are prophecies and in part

    Are longings¹¹ 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.

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