Friday, December 6, 2013

for Friday

 (photo by Scott Snyder)

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

by 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 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. 
 
 

1 comment:

Charlotte said...

Gorgeous photo! And perfect pairing with Frost's poem! Both of you have an extraordinary eye for beauty - thank you.