One of my wishes is that those dark trees, <br />So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze, <br />Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom, <br />But stretched away unto th eedge of doom. <br /> <br />I should not be withheld but that some day <br />into their vastness I should steal away, <br />Fearless of ever finding open land, <br />or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand. <br /> <br />I do not see why I should e'er turn back, <br />Or those should not set forth upon my track <br />To overtake me, who should miss me here <br />And long to know if still I held them dear. <br /> <br />They would not find me changed from him the knew-- <br />Only more sure of all I though was true.<br /><br />Robert Lee Frost<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/into-my-own-2/
