Robert Frost Generated Poem
Is also great
By picking the faded blue
I shall be telling this with a sigh
And be one traveler, long I stood
He will not see me stopping here
Half closes the garden path.
His house is in the village, though;
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
Though as for that the passing there
So Eden sank to grief,
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
I doubted if I should ever come back.