If you have any special poems you love related to the autumn, VT or New England please share!
~Philip Henry Savage
Whoe’er thou art, who walkest there
Where God first taught my feet to roam,
Breathe but my name into the air,
I am content, for that is home.
A sense, a color comes to me,
Of baybushes that heavy lie
With juniper along the sea,
And the blue sea along the sky.
New England is my home; t’is there
I love the pagan sun and moon.
T’is there I love the growing year,
December and young-summer June.
I'd rather love one blade of grass
That grows on one New England hill,
Than drain the whole world in the glass
Of fortune, when the heart is still.
When I went to the Robert Frost Cabin in Ripton off of 125, there was a small path that diverged before me as I walked up to the site. It made me think of this poem which has special meaning to me. I have taken some paths of my own that have made all the difference in my life. I am showing Carol this beautiful locale so I can share my special place of solitude with a special friend. I hope she will take some nice photographs there too!
The Road Not Taken
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.