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
Te 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.
Robert Frost