| TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood, |
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| And sorry I could not travel both |
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| And be one traveler, long I stood |
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| And looked down one as far as I could |
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| To where it bent in the undergrowth; |
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| Then took the other, as just as fair, |
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| And having perhaps the better claim, |
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| Because it was grassy and wanted wear; |
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| Though as for that the passing there |
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| Had worn them really about the same, |
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| And both that morning equally lay |
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| In leaves no step had trodden black. |
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| Oh, I kept the first for another day! |
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| Yet knowing how way leads on to way, |
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| I doubted if I should ever come back. |
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| I shall be telling this with a sigh |
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| Somewhere ages and ages hence: |
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| Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— |
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| I took the one less traveled by, |
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| And that has made all the difference. |
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