Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

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.
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.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Hey do u hav these poems all by hearted? btw i cudn't remember the opening lines of this particular poem yesterday...thnx tht u posted of my favourites....thnx again!
Miss. Mason