The Road Not Taken - Robert Frost

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Lost in a Dream
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The Road Not Taken - Robert Frost

Post by Spazway » Tue Jun 12, 2007 4:54 am

I remember reading a thread in the General Discussion forum about poems and more than one person, if I recall correctly, mentioned that their favourite poem (or one of them) was Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken. I admit this is one of my favourite poems as well. I've included it here for anybody who has not read it (and for those who enjoy reading it again and again).

The Road Not Taken - Robert Frost

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.
If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you. ~ A. A. Milne

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Clearwater Poet
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Post by Gingy » Tue Jun 12, 2007 12:40 pm

hey, I'd never read this before and I am glad you posted it in for us. I really like it!

Gingy x
People are going to see you, how they want to see you. Everyone is different and unique in their own way. But the people who love you and care about you, are whose opinions really matter.

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Post by jeannerené » Mon Jun 18, 2007 11:06 pm

.... It has been awhile since I've read The Road Not Taken .... I think perhaps that as my current age I can at last truly appreciate and understand Mr. Frost's words....


... and his words purge up and outward,
expelled and onward through desert dust swallowed,
sands he says that gorge on simple sensibilities.
And, now he spits fragments, grit, extended vowels and elongated syllables
over cracked lips. Their sounds fall
piling round his boots…
~ jeannerené



flickr -jeannerene photostream

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