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Thursday, July 12, 2012

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Robert Frost Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.   
 His house is in the village though;   
 He will not see me stopping here   
 To watch his woods fill up with snow.   
  
 My little horse must think it queer   
 To stop without a farmhouse near   
 Between the woods and frozen lake   
 The darkest evening of the year.   
  
 He gives his harness bells a shake   
 To ask if there is some mistake.   
 The only other sound’s the sweep   
 Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   
And miles to go before I sleep.

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