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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOD'S YOUTH by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE OLD STOIC by EMILY JANE BRONTE THE HEART OF THE TREE by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER THE HOUSE OF LIFE: THE SONNET (INTRODUCTION) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI TO W. HOHENZOLLERN: A PLEA by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE TRUE LOVE-KNOTT by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |