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The Road Not Taken
by
Robert Frost


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Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

 

 

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

 

 

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

 

 

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

 

This poem is in the public domain.

 

Purchase a framed print of this poem.

Robert Frost (1874-1963) was born in San Francisco, but moved to Massachusetts with his family after his father's death in 1885 and, ultimately, lived in a number of homes and farms throughout New England. Though he attended several prestigious colleges and universities, he never graduated from any of them. Nonetheless, Robert spent most of his adult life teaching, receiving more than forty honorary degrees, along with four Pulitzer Prizes. Robert's interest in poetry started early; he published his first poem while in high school, sold his first poem at twenty, and by the age of forty, was one of America's best known and best loved poets. Rural life is a consistent theme in Robert's poetry, as is simplistic language that is pleasing to the ear; he felt strongly that poetry was best appreciated when read aloud.

 


New comments are closed for now.
Dorcas:
There is a learned book by Scott F. Peck entitled "The Road Less Traveled." Great poem. I think I took this road and must stay with it. There is no time for me to take another.
Posted 08/30/2014 09:16 AM
bubbleschristy@gmail.com:

Posted 08/29/2014 04:52 PM
KevinArnold:
I find myself spending more time on the third stanza than the others, less polished, perhaps, but so full of mystery. I want to say remorse, but there's really none of that, just acceptance . . . way leads on to way . . . And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.
Posted 08/29/2014 01:33 PM
dotief@comcast.net:
I love Frost. His poetry is such simple elegance. "Stopping by Woods..." says it all for me, but this one is a close second.
Posted 08/29/2014 11:10 AM
Ross Kightly:
With complete justice, one of the most widely-anthologised poems in the language! The universality and aptness of the central metaphor is spot on, and used with perfect poise and balance. No prizes for guessing this is one of my own faves too, Jayne. Many thanks.
Posted 08/29/2014 12:25 AM


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