Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
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 sound's
the sweep
Of easy wind and drowsy
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.
If you listen as you read this poem, you can almost hear the soft, snow-drifting silence. This is the winter solstice, the "darkest night of the year", just before the old year dies and the new one begins. And there is this, what?: a man, Death itself perhaps; pausing beside the dark, silent woods to watch the snow. He stands alone (but for the horse) and it would be so easy to give into the blissful silence and let the snow cover him.
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