Jul 2, 2009

Stopping By 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.

- Robert Frost

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