I've been reading A Boy's Will by Robert Frost online at Bartlebey's. I had not read much of Frost before (except for Mending Wall and The Road Not Taken). However, after accidentally stumbling on Frost's obit on the NY Times site, I decided to give him a read.

After just a couple of poems from A Boy's Will, he's rapidly becoming my favourite poet (after Cecil Day Lewis and Dylan Thomas). Take a look at Into My Own:

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 5
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 10
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.