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Stopping by 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.
I think I know whose forest this is. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his forest fill with snow.
My little horse must find it odd To stop without a farmhouse nearby Between the forest and frozen lake On the darkest night of the year.
He shakes his harness bells To ask if there's a mistake. The only other sound is the gentle Sweep of soft wind and fluffy snow.
The forest is beautiful, dark, and deep, But I have promises to keep, And a long way to go before I sleep, And a long way to go before I sleep.