Thursday, September 26, 2013

"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.

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