Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.
I shall be telling this with a sighSomewhere 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.
A diplomat is a man who always remembers a woman's birthday but never remembers her age.
If this uncertain age in which we dwell Were really as dark as I hear sages tell, And I convinced that they were really sages, I should not curse myself with it to hell.
Twas Age imposed on poems Their gather-roses burden To warn against the danger That overtaken lovers From being overflooded With happiness should have it And yet not know they have it.