Walking by the woods on a snowing evening

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Walking by the woods on a snowing evening

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Stopping by woods on a snowy evening
By Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know,His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping hereTo watch his woods fill up with snow.
Between the woods and frozen lake
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
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 sweepOf 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,
The end.

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