Robert Frost

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
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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

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