Poem

      

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.                 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.