Longfellow lived his last 20 years and died a few miles from where I live, and across the street from where we park when we go to Harvard Square. He’s buried in the cemetery where we take out-of-town friends and family for views of Boston. And he wrote my favorite lines of any poem ever.

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.’

– from “My Lost Youth” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

And it’s where the title of this blog comes from.