Finally, A Favorite Poem

Finally. My last literature lecture of this semester has ended. As always, Prof Ding did a pretty good job, both in explaining to us the "valid" interpretations of the poems and giving decent inspirations. I think I can write a thousand words just giving credits to him, but I don't plan to do it today. Besides, this entry should be about literature.

Thanks to Prof Ding's effort, I finally feel like entering the threshold of literature, poetry in particular. Robert Frost's works may be "deceptively simple", but without our dearest professor's guidance , we are simply clueless. With it, however, it doesn't take long for me to see, finally, the beauty and profoundity of his poems.

So, finally I have at least a poem I would be proud of referring to as my favorite:

Robert Frost (1874–1963). Mountain Interval. 1920.

The Road Not Taken


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.