He Had a Lover’s Quarrel With the World

Leaving Vermont reluctantly, we decided to stay off of the road most traveled, and take scenic country roads for our final drive south. Had we not, I would have never seen Robert Frost’s home/museum, and never known that this Poet extraordinaire  was buried in Bennington.

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.”
                                                         —-   Robert Frost

We had already decided to stop at the Battlefield Monument on our way south and now we had a second stop before we left Vermont since a stop at his grave to pay my respects had become a necessity.

In the quintessential Vermont village, one of America’s most loved poets lies in eternal rest with his wife, Elinor, and others of his family who have passed from this world into the next. The First Congregational Church in Bennington has been a most gracious host to visitors who come from far and wide just to pay homage to this man, providing signs along a well kept path to his grave. Pennies, trinkets and pebbles tell of many past visitors, with a few colorful leaves tossed in by Mother Nature herself. The labor intensive grave marker is almost poetry itself, with carvings that were obviously done by a stone carver’s hand ~ a stone carver with artistic leanings. As I stood there, alone, reflecting on his contributions to America, I thought of his “Road Less Traveled” and how it fit into our choice that morning. Had we taken the other fork we would have sped by Bennington and missed a chance to stop and reflect.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

“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.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

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.”

                                  —- Robert Frost

Reflection over ~ reality before us.

After all, we had miles to go before we sleep, And miles to go before we sleep.

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