The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

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.