Saturday, January 5, 2008

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 sounds 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

1 comment:

Julie Morrison said...

I have loved this poem since I was in 6th grade. A whole scene unfolds before me...The other favorite- and I am sure it must be one of yours as well- the road less traveled. Deep reverie. See ya when I get back from there. :)