Robert Frost

Robert Frost (1874–1963)

THE HOUSE had gone to bring again	
To the midnight sky a sunset glow.	
Now the chimney was all of the house that stood,	
Like a pistil after the petals go.	
The barn opposed across the way,	        5
That would have joined the house in flame	
Had it been the will of the wind, was left	
To bear forsaken the place’s name.	
No more it opened with all one end	
For teams that came by the stony road	        10
To drum on the floor with scurrying hoofs	
And brush the mow with the summer load.	
The birds that came to it through the air	
At broken windows flew out and in,	
Their murmur more like the sigh we sigh	        15
From too much dwelling on what has been.	
Yet for them the lilac renewed its leaf,	
And the aged elm, though touched with fire;	
And the dry pump flung up an awkward arm;	
And the fence post carried a strand of wire.	        20
For them there was really nothing sad.	
But though they rejoiced in the nest they kept,	
One had to be versed in country things	
Not to believe the phoebes wept.

The Road Not Taken

"The Road Not Taken"
  by 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.