The Road Not Taken
Picture
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
Picture
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
This is my favorite poem. I first read it in high school. Throughout my life I think I have stood at a crossroad many times. Sometimes I made the right decision and sometimes I did not. But...
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
Anyone familiar with a wooded snowy vista would certainly be reminded of this poem as I did after being introduced to the writings many years ago in school. Many years have passed since its...
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Wow! I like it! It is wonderful. I like nature and science. It's very interesting.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
Robert Frost is a poet of great repute. It is not within our jurisdiction to comment on such a literary giant. However, in view of your invitation, I would say that he might have been in...
When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don't stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven't hoed,
Excellent! The case almost unattended in today's crazily hasty waste of morality and spirituality in favor of modernity! A nice moral lesson for those entrapped in the network of virtual...
My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
I have wished a bird would fly away,
And not sing by my house all day;
Have clapped my hands at him from the door
I laughed at this poem. I have felt the same way at times. I live in the country, and there is nothing more peaceful than listening to God's natural sounds of nature, but it’s just like any...
Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.