STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING

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 filled up with snow...

My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farm house 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 that sweeps,
Of easy winds n downy flakes...

The woods are lovely, dark n deep.
But I have promises to keep.
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep...

-ROBERT FROST