STOPPING BY THE WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING

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.


ROBERT FROST