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.
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I remember memorizing this poem in school. That certainly dates me, I know. The lines that have stayed with me are:
“But I have promises to keep,
and miles to go before I sleep”
and I still do,,
Until next time