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.

Robert Frost

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4 Comments

  1. This is one of very frost poems I memorized as a teen. My dad was a poet and his dad. I love this poem!

    Reply
  2. My favourite poem, this one. Somehow I seem to like this poem above any other, even If by Kipling or Invictus.

    Reply

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