The Road

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.