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 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.

-Robert Frost

When I was a very little girl, my Mom was studying this poem in college. She read it out loud to me, and I loved the way it sounded, so she helped me to memorize it. According to her, I spent the next year or so reciting it to anyone who would listen. I still love the music of it. In high school, the thought that it might be about suicide appealed to my teenage angst. Now, I still marvel at the deep, yearning loneliness of the poem.

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