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 think, like any good poem, it's "meaning" changes because of what you bring to
it. It could be about regret, or about not following the crowd, or
about there not really being a road less traveled. Depends on what you
bring to it.
When I read this as a young person, I thought the "sigh"
near the end would be a sigh of contentment with my choice of the road
less traveled, but now that I'm older, I feel like that sigh might be
one of melancholy, of wistfulness.
I believe I'm reading it with different eyes now.
