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“He knew another place, a wood, And in it, tall as trees, were cliffs; And if he stood on one of these, 'Twould be among the tops of trees, Their upper branches round him wreathing, Their breathing mingled with his breathing. If-if he stood! Enough of ifs! He knew a path that wanted walking; He knew a spring that wanted drinking; A thought that wanted further thinking; A love that wanted re-renewing. Nor was this just a way of talking To save him the expense of doing. With him it boded action, deed.” — Robert Frost
He knew another place, a wood,
And in it, tall as trees, were cliffs;
And if he stood on one of these,
'Twould be among the tops of trees,
Their upper branches round him wreathing,
Their breathing mingled with his breathing.
If-if he stood! Enough of ifs!
He knew a path that wanted walking;
He knew a spring that wanted drinking;
A thought that wanted further thinking;
A love that wanted re-renewing.
Nor was this just a way of talking
To save him the expense of doing.
With him it boded action, deed.