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. You 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. his horn's bell is a shake to ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep of easy wind and downy thrife.
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.