Friday, 18 November 2011

I have promises to keep....

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.


Robert Frost.


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