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13 July 2005 @ 08:16 pm
Robert Frost's:

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

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.


This is my absolute favorite poem of all times! And my first poem of my daily poems.
Current Mood: contentcontent
helenucha on November 1st, 2009 11:18 am (UTC)

I thing, you are so romantic..