Autumn poetry primer, part 4
I was admiring the photographs that Robin has up at her blog - all those beautiful aspens turned yellow for fall. Of course, seeing a yellow wood such as that called Robert Frost to mind:
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.
I discussed this poem at length in a post I wrote last August, if you are interested in either its form or the discussion of its origin (and how Frost intended it to be ironic, not earnest).
Today in South Jersey, we have a wind advisory. The wind chimes are chiming, the leaves are rustling and the acorns are thwacking the deck. I only hope that the wind doesn't get too ambitious: I'd like for the leaves to stay on the trees until they turn, and the trees (and their branches) to stay where they are.
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.
I discussed this poem at length in a post I wrote last August, if you are interested in either its form or the discussion of its origin (and how Frost intended it to be ironic, not earnest).
Today in South Jersey, we have a wind advisory. The wind chimes are chiming, the leaves are rustling and the acorns are thwacking the deck. I only hope that the wind doesn't get too ambitious: I'd like for the leaves to stay on the trees until they turn, and the trees (and their branches) to stay where they are.