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...POETICAL ABSTRACTS: 2. METAPHYSICAL by HAYDEN CARRUTH A POEM FROM THE EDGE OF AMERICA by JAMES GALVIN SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: AMOS SIBLEY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS REMBRANDT TO REMBRANDT by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON FIRST FRUIT by ISAAC ROSENBERG |