The poem describes two roads that diverged in a yellow wood. The speaker could not travel both so they stood for a long time deciding which path to take. One road seemed as fair as the other. In the end, the speaker chose the less traveled path, believing it would make all the difference.
The poem describes two roads that diverged in a yellow wood. The speaker could not travel both so they stood for a long time deciding which path to take. One road seemed as fair as the other. In the end, the speaker chose the less traveled path, believing it would make all the difference.
The poem describes two roads that diverged in a yellow wood. The speaker could not travel both so they stood for a long time deciding which path to take. One road seemed as fair as the other. In the end, the speaker chose the less traveled path, believing it would make all the difference.
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.
Composed upon Westminster Bridge,
September 3, 1802 Earth has not any thing to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!
Sonnet 116: Let me not to the marriage of true
minds Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wand'ring bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.