Stopping by the 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 sounds the sweep
Of easy wind and down flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
and miles to go before I sleep,
Ad miles to go before I sleep.