The Road Not Taken

Written: 1915 • Published: 1916

lyric choice individualism nature life-paths regret memory contemplative nostalgic reflective ambiguous

Public Domain

This poem is in the public domain and may be freely reproduced.

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.

Curator's Note

Often misread as a celebration of nonconformity, Frost intended this as an ironic poem about self-deception. The speaker claims the roads were different, but admits they 'really [were] about the same.' We tell ourselves stories about our choices mattering, when perhaps they don't as much as we'd like to believe. Frost wrote this to gently mock his friend Edward Thomas's indecisiveness on their walks together.