Poem of the Day - Part 12

 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.

(Photo: Erkka Lehmus riding in snow, Finland)

        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.