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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,
And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black.
I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Robert Frost |