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.
The Guild Review is a blog of art, culture, faith and politics. We seek understanding, not conformity.
Tuesday, October 2, 2018
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
"And miles to go before I sleep" - it is one of those lines we all know, but from where? Many Americans will recognize that it is a snatch of poetry from Robert Frost. Fewer will be able to name that poem: "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening." Perhaps we had to read it in school at some point, but it is a poem - simple, elegant, thoughtful - which bears repeating.
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