Whose woods these are i think i know his house is in the village thoughi
He will hot see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow
My little horese 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 pomises to keep
And miles to go before i seep
And miles to go before i seep