| 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. These 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 1874-1963 |
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