The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost (1874–1963)
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And be one traveler, long I stood
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
And that has made all the difference.
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And sorry I could not travel both
And looked down one as far as I could
And having perhaps the better claim,
Though as for that the passing there
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
I took the one less traveled by,
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