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,
Photo By Alistair.
Photo By Alistair.
4 comments:
One of my absolute favourite poems to teach.
Hari OM
...and one of my absolute faves - just because! &*> YAM xx
My son wrote music to this poem a while back. I must find it and have a listen. This poem was such a great discovery back when I was a student. It takes me directly into those silent woods and makes me stop a while, too.
Another fan of Robert Frost here. This is such a comforting poem.
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