Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

It’s Poetry Saturday here! I’ve decided that we’re going to start included some poetry here occasionally on weekends, and this is the first one. By the way, if you’re a poet, let me know and perhaps we can showcase one of your poems here.

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’s 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.

Books by Robert Frost:

 

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