Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost
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.
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