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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A VISION OF CONNAUGHT IN THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY by JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN IN HONOR OF TAFFY TOPAZ by CHRISTOPHER DARLINGTON MORLEY MAY MORNING by CELIA LEIGHTON THAXTER TO A SNOWFLAKE by FRANCIS THOMPSON FLOWER AND THORN by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH MARECHAL NIEL by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH VACANT STALL by ELIZABETH WILCOX BEASLEY |