|A Cottage by the Sea||
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
The trail to Arthur's Seat.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood--and I, I took the one last traveled by.
An hour of winter day might seem too short
To make it worth life's while to wake and sport.