Stopping By The Woods On A Snowy Evening
By Robert Frost
Who's 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's
queerTo 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.