Monday, January 31, 2005

My favorite poem

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.

2 Comments:

Blogger Daetrin said...

Very evocative, isn't it. I take it your a winter personality. :)

February 4, 2005 at 2:06 PM  
Blogger Tall_driver said...

I am. Very much so. And you?

February 4, 2005 at 5:06 PM  

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