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.
(image via toddland)
I remember having to remember this Robert Frost poem as a kid in school. Just recently going through all my old papers back home I found a little print-out of it and pasted it to my bulletin board. My brain has not retained the memorization but definitely the good memories.
