I believed that the world was made for grown-ups.
And through the woods I crept with taken pain,
For fear I would see him in my snare,
The other figure, the crown—bound
In every world I had not made or said.

And yet each night they found me there and thin
As in their ears they meant to say
We are you and we are made for him as well,
A type of thing most might have taken in themselves
Through the woodlands to the wide-leafed side.

So the woods through spring will lead me clear,
And I will come not to rust underfoot,
For fear I would, as far as any thought
That can clear the bravest finds alive.

The wildflower heads will lean like hands from earth
To take me in for the what and what was mine.

• Robert Frost