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Poetry Wednesday

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

2010 057


3 thoughts on “Poetry Wednesday

  1. Frost! New Hampshire natives (like me!) grow up being spoon fed this poem…we memorized it and drew pictures to go with it, and hear stories of his life, work, family. I grew up a couple of miles from one of his farms, which is rarely open to tourists and has been vandalized multiple times by squatters who hole up in winter. My college has an entire department headquartered in the house he lived in when he taught there. I took numerous classes in the room which was his classroom in 1910-1911. Up the broad another hour or so from my school is another Frost farm.
    He is legendary for so many connections in our little state, and though I can’t speak for others, I always feel a glow of pride when I run across this particularly famous piece of his, written as if by an old soul who knew New Hampshire (nay, the whole of New England) “before.” Even though that mythical “before” never really existed, and the kindly old farmer had a reputation as a taciturn cynic.

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