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
the Poets Heart 
MichelleMarie Antell
/ November 2, 2013This is one of very frost poems I memorized as a teen. My dad was a poet and his dad. I love this poem!
jspruell
/ November 2, 2013One of those poems that can be read over & over, and never loses its effect!
akashkapur13
/ November 19, 2013My favourite poem, this one. Somehow I seem to like this poem above any other, even If by Kipling or Invictus.
jspruell
/ November 19, 2013And one of mine 🙂