Thoughts of youth

I am treading today on the same ground that began my independence half a lifetime ago. I have the privilege to visit my alma mater this week. Walking on campus has really got me reminiscing about being here,and how scary it was as a seventeen year old. I visited with old professors and walked the same halls.

I never realized or had forgotten how beautiful this place is. It is funny that I can remember the buildings, streets and even the professors, but forgot the way the mountains spike up beyond the buildings. The trees hover over the walkways displaying their vibrant colors. I chatted with the lady at the bookstore who put a unique perspective on things. She said that when you grow up here (which I did) that you take for granted the beauty that constantly surrounds you.

How prophetic she was. I think that not only do you take your surroundings for granted, but also the opportunity. Many of us would love to take the wisdom that we now have and go back to soak up the learning and understanding offered from your professors. So as I sit here staring at old main, a poem comes to mind by henry wadsworth longfellow, "My Lost Youth". Here is part of it:

"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.""