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

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it

To stop without a farmhouse

Between the woods and frozen

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound's the

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.