Robert Frost

Robert Lee Frost (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963) was an American poet. He is highly regarded for his realistic depictions of rural life and his command of American colloquial speech. (Wikipedia)

I am having a bit of a poetry moment. I came home from university today, and having not been in my bedroom for some time, like to have a bit of a poke around and see what treasures I can rediscover. I just found some books (I have a gazillion in this room), more specifically poetry books, from when I went through a phase of buying them. I found one called Poems of the Great War, which is obviously linked to my last blog post, and then I was thinking about other poems that I like, and I remembered one that we did in class recently by Robert Frost:

The Road Not Taken

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.

It speaks volumes to me, especially ‘knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.’ I just love that idea, that we make decisions and think that if it doesn’t work out, we can come back, and try again; but that the truth is we can probably never come back and try again, because the decision we made in the first place has altered our path. I love it.

I will be printing a copy of this poem and putting it on my wall. I am also going to start a journal of my favourite poems.

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