Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
BY ROBERT FROST
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.
Stopping
by
Woods
on a Snowy
Evening
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.