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Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening (A Poem by Robert Frost)
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Robert Frost
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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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