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Robert Frost – from The Poetry of Robert Frost

 Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, 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 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 travelled by
And that has made all the difference

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The tree the tempest with a crash of wood
Throws down in front of us is not to bar
Our passage to a journey's end for good,
But just to ask us who we think we are

Insisting always on our own way so.
She likes to halt us in our runner tracks,
And make us get down in a foot of snow
Debating what to do without an axe.

And yet she knows obstruction is in vain;
We will not be put off the final goal
We have it hidden in us to attain,
Not though we have to seize earth by the pole

And tired of aimless circling in one place,
Steer straight off after something into space.