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By Robert Frost
Stopping by Woods
But I have
He gives his harness bells
Whose woods these are
I think I know
a shake To ask if
His house is in
the village though
promises to keep
there is some mistake
He will not see me
stopping here
The only other sound's
To watch his woods
fill up with snow
on a Snowy Evening
And miles to go before I sleep
the sweep Of easy wind
My little horse
must think it queer
and downy flake
To stop without
a farmhouse near
And miles to go before I sleep
The woods are lovely
Between the woods
and frozen lake
dark and deep
The darkest evening
of the year
