StoppingbytheWoodsonaSnowyEveningbyRobertFrost
WhosewoodstheseareIthinkIknow.Hishouseisinthevillagethough;HewillnotseemestoppinghereTowatchhiswoodsfillupwithsnow.
MylittlehorsemustthinkitqueerTostopwithoutafarmhousenearBetweenthewoodsandfrozenlakeThedarkesteveningoftheyear.
HegiveshisharnessbellsashakeToaskifthereissomemistake.Theonlyothersound'sthesweepOfeasywindanddownyflake.
Thewoodsarelovely,darkanddeep.ButIhavepromisestokeep,AndmilestogobeforeIsleep,AndmilestogobeforeIsleep.