Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
BY ROBERT FROST
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.
3 comments:
A super classic, Joe. Frost's imagery is crystal clear; I almost shiver from the cold reading this poem. Thank you.
My favorite poem, we used it at my Mom's memorial service rather something my zealotly religious brother wanted.
I love this poem and typically post it in January or February on my blog as well.
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