The Road Not Taken

Discussion in 'Off Topic' started by Fire Slinger, Sep 21, 2000.

  1. Fire Slinger Vetern CPA Member Pyromananic

    The Road Not Taken
    by Robert Frost


    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.

    [Edited by Fire Slinger on September 21st, 2000 at 11:45 PM]
  2. nanokill Veteran CPA Member<BR><FONT co

    hmm....nice poem...why don't you edit it to show the author of the poem
  3. Fire Slinger Vetern CPA Member Pyromananic

    I'm sorry.

    The author is R. Frost.
  4. Chaos Turtle Demiurgic CPA Member, Admin Assistant

    I like Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" but I'm too lazy to post it here.
  5. Zadok001 CPA Founder, Greater Good

    :) Frost rules... Unquestionably.
  6. terzarima New Member

    I admit that I am a fan of peotry and that R Frost is a great poet, but my personal favorite is Lionel Johnson... My signature is the first paragraph of To the destroyer of a soul by lionel Johnson but I have another cool one, let me scrounge it up... Its a little long so don't get mad..
    Dark Angel by Lionel Johnson

    Dark Angel, with thine aching lust
    To rid the world of penitence:
    Malicious Angel, who still dost
    My soul such subtile violence!

    Because of thee, no thought, no thing,
    Abides for me undesecrate:
    Dark Angel, ever on the wing,
    Who never reachest me too late!

    When music sounds, then changest thou
    Its silvery to a sultry fire:
    Nor will thine envious heart allow
    Delight untortured by desire.

    Through thee, the gracious Muses turn,
    To Furies, O mine Enemy!
    And all the things of beauty burn
    With flames of evil ecstasy.

    Because of thee, the land of dreams
    Becomes a gathering place of fears:
    Until tormented slumber seems
    One vehemence of useless tears.

    When sunlight glows upon the flowers,
    Or ripples down the dancing sea:
    Thou, with thy troop of passionate powers,
    Beleaguerest, bewilderest, me.

    Within the breath of autumn woods,
    Within the winter silences:
    Thy venomous spirit stirs and broods,
    O Master of impieties!

    The ardour of red flame is thine,
    And thine the steely soul of ice:
    Thou poisonest the fair design
    Of nature, with unfair device.

    Apples of ashes, golden bright;
    Waters of bitterness, how sweet!
    O banquet of a foul delight,
    Prepared by thee, dark Paraclete!

    Thou art the whisper in the gloom,
    The hinting tone, the haunting laugh:
    Thou art the adorner of my tomb,
    The minstrel of mine epitaph.


    I fight thee, in the Holy Name!
    Yet, what thou dost, is what God saith:
    Tempter! should I escape thy flame,
    Thou wilt have helped my soul from Death:

    The second Death, that never dies,
    That cannot die, when time is dead:
    Live Death, wherein the lost soul cries,
    Eternally uncomforted.

    Dark Angel, with thine aching lust!
    Of two defeats, of two despairs:
    Less dread, a change to drifting dust,
    Than thine eternity of cares.

    Do what thou wilt, thou shalt not so,
    Dark Angel! triumph over me:
    Lonely, unto the Lone I go;
    Divine, to the Divinity.

    Pretty cool, no? If you want any other Lionel Johson I have 2 or 3 others... they are hard to find...
  7. Almindhra Magic's Bitch

    Honestly, I don't really like poems...I can never find those hidden meanings teachers find...(Most of the time I think they're just making up stuff)...But we were reading a poem by Robert Frost, maybe it was Stopping by the Woods, I don't know, in 8th grade...It was about the stone fences that people would build in between each other...The teacher asked for words to describe the poem and she would write them on the overhead...I said stupid, because hes thinking about stones too much...She never wrote it down...I was kind of let down by that, because thats what I honestly felt...Oh well...
  8. nanokill Veteran CPA Member<BR><FONT co

    hey ademis22...i like that poem.......hmmmm......another signature opertunity....dark angel.....i like it......
  9. Apollo Bird Boy

    Almindhra, I feel the same way:) I can't stand poetry. And I've always wanted to say something like that to a teacher, but never had the guts.

    The funny thing is, we once had to write a poem in school about spring, and I pretty much BS'ed it and then they loved it and wanted me to read it on TV. It was weird, cause I thought the poem sucked.

    Anyways...

    Apollo
  10. terzarima New Member

    Hey thanks nanokill, I think I have one you'll like..

    Mystic And Cavalier by Lionel Johnson

    Go from me: I am one of those who fall.
    What! hath no cold wind swept your heart at all,
    In my sad company? Before the end,
    Go from me, dear my friend!

    Yours are the victories of light: your feet
    Rest from good toil, where rest is brave and sweet:
    But after warfare in a mourning gloom,
    I rest in clouds of doom.

    Have you not read so, looking in these eyes?
    Is it the common light of the pure skies,
    Lights up their shadowy depths? The end is set:
    Though the end be not yet.

    When gracious music stirs, and all is bright,
    And beauty triumphs through a courtly night;
    When I too joy, a man like other men:
    Yet, am I like them, then?

    And in the battle, when the horsemen sweep
    Against a thousand deaths, and fall on sleep:
    Who ever sought that sudden calm, if I
    Sought not? yet could not die!

    Seek with thine eyes to pierce this crystal sphere:
    Canst read a fate there, prosperous and clear?
    Only the mists, only the weeping clouds,
    Dimness and airy shrouds.

    Beneath, what angels are at work? What powers
    Prepare the secret of the fatal hours?
    See! the mists tremble, and the clouds are stirred:
    When comes the calling word?

    The clouds are breaking from the crystal ball,
    Breaking and clearing: and I look to fall.
    When the cold winds and airs of portent sweep,
    My spirit may have sleep.

    O rich and sounding voices of the air!
    Interpreters and prophets of despair:
    Priests of a fearful sacrament! I come,
    To make with you mine home.
  11. Spiderman CPA Man in Tights, Dopey Administrative Assistant

    I have to agree with Almindhra and Apollo, I can never find those hidden meanings in poetry (or books). Sometimes I'm thinking "Well, maybe the author just wrote it for it and doesn't HAVE any hidden meanings"! But it's all good...
  12. Rando Freaky Bear

    see if you can find the hidden meaning here...

    s
    i
    [
    a
    l
    e
    a
    f
    f
    a
    l
    l
    s
    ]
    l
    e
    n
    c
    e

    ee cummings was a freak. This one is easy though.

    and my fav. by Frost:

    Nature's first green is gold,
    Her hardest hue to hold.
    Her early leaf's a flower
    But only so an hour.
    Then leaf subsides to leaf
    (So Eden sank to grief)
    As dawn goes down today
    Nothing gold can stay.

    I don't have the poem with me, but I'm sure I got it right. Correct me if I'm wrong and any words and such.

    [Edited by Rando on September 25th, 2000 at 11:54 AM]
  13. arhar Member

    Don't tempt me to post "Eaten back to life" or "Hammer-smashed face" by John Barnes. Nasty stuff, but hilarious.
  14. Duel Has Less Posts Than Spiderman

    Stopping By The Woods On A Snowy Evening
    By Robert Frost

    Whose woods these are, I think I know
    His house is in the city, though
    He will not see me stopping here
    To watch his woods fill up with snow.

    My little horse must think it queer
    To stop without a farmhouse near
    Between the woods and frozen lake
    The coldest night-time for the year.

    The woods are lovely, dark and deep
    But I have promises to keep
    And miles to go before I sleep,
    And miles to go before I sleep.

    I, too, prefer this poem. And, though Frost brings an aura of peace with all his poems (though "The Road Not Taken" is overused), I prefer Lord Byron:

    She walks in beauty, like the night
    Of cloudless climes and starry skies.
    And all that's best in dark or light
    Lies in her aspect, and her eyes.
    Thus mellowed to the tender light
    Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

    One shade the more, one ray the less
    Had half impaired that maiden grace
    Which waves on every raven tress
    And softly lightens o'er her face.
    Where thoughts, serenly sweet, express
    How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

    And on that face, and o'er that brow
    So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
    The smiles that win, and tints that glow
    But tell of days in goodness spent.
    A mind at peace with all below,
    A heart whose love is innocent!

    Excuse minor errors, I'm posting these by heart, so I don't know the exact punctuation.
  15. linsivvi New Member

    hello everyone, long time no talk, well i just saw poetry stuff and i thought i would post one too, tell me what you think


    On the road of life I started walking,
    Not knowing where it would head,
    I never tried to look to the side,
    But always strait ahead,

    For when I looked upon the path,
    That was placed next to mine,
    I realized that path was better,
    though mine was perfectly fine,

    I have gone through most of my life,
    Looking to the side,
    Envious of the path next to me,
    Instead of thankful for having mine,

    The path beside me was filled with light,
    And mine just a little less,
    There was nothing wrong with my path
    Though it made me feel second best,

    And new me has awakened,
    The old self in me has died,
    I have learned in life to look strait ahead,
    And never side to side.
  16. terzarima New Member

    I want to keep this thread alive, I think that its very cool... All you people who don't understand the hidden meaning behind peotry it don't matter you can still appreciate it just for the beuty of the words. I think this is one o' da best threads
  17. Baskil CPA Member

    I've always been a fan of poetry (don't worry, I won't post my own stuff :)). For those that don't get the underlying meaning to things, it's ok. A lot of times, those meanings are not there or the poem was made to intentionally leave the meaning up to the reader. It's just a fun exercise for us poetry buffs to find hidden meanings in poems. Once, for example, I found a dissertation about how Stopping by the Woods... by Frost is actually about Santa Claus. Anyway, here's one of my favorites.

    A Supermarket in California
    by Alen Ginsberg

    What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whit-
    man, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees
    with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon.
    In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images,
    I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of
    your enumerations!
    What peaches and what penumbras! Whole fam-
    ilies shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives
    in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you,
    Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the
    watermelons?

    I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old
    grubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator
    and eyeing the grocery boys.
    I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed
    the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my
    Angel?
    I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of
    cans following you, and followed in my imagination
    by the store detective.
    We strode down the open corridors together in
    our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every
    frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.
    Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors
    close in an hour. Which way does your beard point
    tonight?
    (I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the
    supermarket and feel absurd.)
    Will we walk all night through solitary streets?
    The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses,
    we'll both be lonely.
    Will we stroll dreaming ofthe lost America of love
    past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent
    cottage?
    Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-
    teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit
    poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank
    and stood watching the boat disappear on the black
    waters of Lethe?
  18. EricBess Active Member

    This one's more my speed:

    I am Sam
    Sam I am
    That Sam I am, that Sam I am
    I do not like that Sam I am

    There's a bunch more, but I'm sure you all know it. :)
  19. Ristik New Member

    You guys have missed by far the best poet there is (although cummings and Frost are excellent, and there is much to be said for Ginsberg's social attitudes): Lewis Carroll. His poem Jabberwocky is F-ing hilarious. Plus, it was the only poem my AP Literature teacher hated! How cool is that?

    Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll

    'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
    Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
    All mimsy were the borogoves,
    And the mome raths outgrabe.

    "Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
    The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
    Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
    The frumious Bandersnatch!"

    He took his vorpal sword in hand:
    Long time the manxome foe he sought-
    He rested by the Tumtum tree,
    And stood awhile in thought.

    And, as in uffish thought he stood,
    The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
    Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
    And burbled as it came!

    One, two! One, two! And through and through
    The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
    He left it dead, and with its head
    He went galumphing back.

    "And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
    Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
    O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
    He chortled in his joy.

    'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
    Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
    All mimsy were the borogoves,
    And the mome raths outgrabe.
  20. Baskil CPA Member

    I thought Through the Looking Glass was a little too wierd... Maybe that's just me :)

    Oh, I almost forgot to mention my other favorite poets: William Blake and Sylvia Plath(her "Ariel" was the first book of poetry I ever bought)

    A Poison Tree
    by William Blake
    I was angry with my friend;
    I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
    I was angry with my foe:
    I told it not, my wrath did grow.

    And I waterd it in fears,
    Night & morning with my tears:
    And I sunned it with smiles,
    And with soft deceitful wiles.

    And it grew both day and night.
    Till it bore an apple bright.
    And my foe beheld it shine,
    And he knew that it was mine.

    And into my garden stole,
    When the night had veild the pole;
    In the morning glad I see;
    My foe outstretchd beneath the tree.

    and

    Cut
    by Sylvia Plath
    What a thrill------
    My thumb instead of an onion.
    The top quite gone
    Except for a sort of a hinge

    Of skin,
    A flap like a hat,
    Dead white.
    Then that red plush.

    Little pilgrim,
    The Indian's axed your scalp.
    Your turkey wattle
    Carpet rolls

    Straight from the heart.
    I step on it,
    Clutching my bottLe
    Of pink fizz.

    A celebration, this is.
    Out of a gap
    A million soldiers run,
    Redcoats, every one.

    Whose side are they on?
    O my
    Homunculus, I am ill.
    I have taken a pill to kill

    The thin
    Papery feeling.
    Saboteur,
    Kamikaze man------

    The stain on your
    Gauze Ku Klux Klan
    Babushka
    Darkens and tarnishes and when

    The balled
    Pulp of your heart
    Confronts its small
    Mill of silence

    How you jump------
    Trepanned veteran,
    Dirty girl,
    Thumb stump.

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