I don't know how it happened, but suddenly I found myself reading poetry. And it's not that I dislike poetry, but that after reading dozens of poems about different things, my brain is swirling around and around and my eyes are swimming and I think maybe I actually dislike poetry.
At any rate, I know I don't like Robert Frost, yet for the first time ever, I like this poem. Except, I don't really like it, it's more that it struck me as meaning something. For once. Ugh.
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 know this one by heart! I got a book of Robert Frosts poetry when i was like 13. I've been hooked ever since. I loved this one so much i committed it to memory.
Lewis Carroll has some really crazy poetry. I have a book of his stuff to. He's the guy that wrote Alice in Wonderland. Anyway, lot's of his stuff doesn't even make sense. He just makes up words, but it's amazing!
It's my second favorite poem! It has been set to music, so now it's playing in my head.
My very favorite is this one:
[h=1]She Walks in Beauty[/h]By
Lord Byron (George Gordon) 1788–1824
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!