Ria_Longhorn
Platinum Member
- Apr 2, 2017
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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.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening By Robert Frost
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.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening By Robert Frost
