19 July, 2012

{poetically plagiarized} 5: Frost

Hoping this cools you off a bit.

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's 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.

Robert Frost, 1922       
New Hampshire