One could do worse than be a swinger of birches

What a great poem, it remindes me of adventuring with the kids. Robert Frost's "Birches". Here's the last stanza.

...
Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.