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The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost

Posted on 01/10/2014 6:17:52 PM PST by not2be4gotten.com

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.


TOPICS: Books/Literature; Poetry
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To: not2be4gotten.com

A great poem.

I remember Robert Frost reciting a poem at John Kennedy’s inauguration, don’t recall if it was this one. It was a bitterly cold day in Washington DC.


41 posted on 01/10/2014 10:06:01 PM PST by Pelham (Obamacare, the vanguard of Obammunism)
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To: Pelham
~ The Gift Outright ~

The land was ours before we were the land's.
She was our land more than a hundred years
Before we were her people. She was ours
In Massachusetts, in Virginia.
But we were England's, still colonials,
Possessing what we still were unpossessed by,
Possessed by what we now no more possessed.
Something we were withholding made us weak.
Until we found out that it was ourselves
We were withholding from our land of living,
And forthwith found salvation in surrender.
Such as we were we gave ourselves outright
(The deed of gift was many deeds of war)
To the land vaguely realizing westward,
But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced,
Such as she was, such as she would become.

~ Robert Frost; 1874-1963 ~http://www.orwelltoday.com/jfkinaugpoem.shtml

42 posted on 01/10/2014 10:12:13 PM PST by thecodont
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To: not2be4gotten.com

The Gift Outright

The land was ours before we were the land’s.
She was our land more than a hundred years
Before we were her people. She was ours
In Massachusetts, in Virginia,
But we were England’s, still colonials,
Possessing what we still were unpossessed by,
Possessed by what we now no more possessed.
Something we were withholding made us weak
Until we found out that it was ourselves
We were withholding from our land of living,
And forthwith found salvation in surrender.
Such as we were we gave ourselves outright
(The deed of gift was many deeds of war)
To the land vaguely realizing westward,
But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced,
Such as she was, such as she would become.
Robert Frost


43 posted on 01/10/2014 10:17:17 PM PST by Pelham (Obamacare, the vanguard of Obammunism)
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To: thecodont

Thanks, I was hunting for it as you posted..


44 posted on 01/10/2014 10:18:18 PM PST by Pelham (Obamacare, the vanguard of Obammunism)
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To: NewJerseyJoe

Can you explain it to me?
I understand every Frost poem except this one.
I have no idea who My Sorrow is.


45 posted on 01/11/2014 3:11:40 PM PST by maxwellsmart_agent
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To: maxwellsmart_agent

With a latern that wouldn’t burn
in too frail a buggy we drove
behind too heavy a horse
through a pitch-dark limitless grove

And a man come out of the trees
and took our horse by the head
and reaching back to his ribs
deliberately stabbed him dead

The preponderous beast went down
with the crack of a broken shaft
and the night drew through the trees
in one long invidious draft

The most unquestioning pair
that ever accepted fate
and the least disposed to ascribe
any more than we had to hate

We assumed that the man himself
or someone he had to obey
wanted us to get down
and walk the rest of the way

By Robert Frost
The Draft Horse


46 posted on 01/11/2014 3:40:42 PM PST by maxwellsmart_agent
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To: maxwellsmart_agent

“My Sorrow” is the woman he loves. He sees and feels the things that she does — but they mean more to him when he hears *her* say them. Despite the general dreariness of November, he still sees the beauties that are there — and appreciates them more because of the way she sees them, too.


47 posted on 01/11/2014 5:37:20 PM PST by NewJerseyJoe (Rat mantra: "Facts are meaningless! You can use facts to prove anything that's even remotely true!")
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