Whose woods these are I think I know. <br />His house is in the village, though; <br />He will not see me stopping here <br />To watch his woods fill up with snow. <br /> <br />My little horse must think it queer <br />To stop without a farmhouse near <br />Between the woods and frozen lake <br />The darkest evening of the year. <br /> <br />He gives his harness bells a shake <br />To ask if there is some mistake. <br />The only other sound's the sweep <br />Of easy wind and downy flake. <br /> <br />The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, <br />But I have promises to keep, <br />And miles to go before I sleep, <br />And miles to go before I sleep.<br /><br />Robert Frost<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/stopping-by-woods-on-a-snowy-evening-2/
