Wednesday, 20 February 2013

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening – by Robert Frost (1874-1963) Weekly Poem

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’s 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.

This was one of my Mother's favourite poems, consequently I'm rather fond of it myself.
 More on the poet Robert Frost here.
Image courtesy of My Equestrian World.

No comments:

Post a Comment