The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

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.

I realize it cliche perhaps to admire one of the more generic poets; but this piece has always struck a chord with me. I deeply admire Walt Whitman's flowing style, and his ability to insert rhyme so brilliantly. If a single word were changed, the flow would fall apart; and if that is not mastery of language, what is?

I hope to write as great poetry as he one day, even though I focus more on fiction nowaways.