Explore "Into my Own" by Robert Frost on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
One of my wishes is that those dark trees, / So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze, / Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom, / But stretched away unto the edge of doom.
I should not be withheld but that some day / Into their vastness I should steal away, / Fearless of ever finding open land, / Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.
I do not see why I should e'er turn back, / Or those should not set forth upon my track / To overtake me, who should miss me here / And long to know if still I held them dear.
They would not find me changed from him they knew-
Only more sure of all I thought was true.