|
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. |
| |
