The Road Not Taken

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 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 travelled by,

And that has made all the difference