STOPPING BY WOODS
ON A SNOWY EVENING Robert Frost (1874-1963)
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.
was born in San Francisco in 1874. He moved to New
England at the age of 11 and became interested in reading and writing
poetry during his high school years in Lawrence, Mass. He was
enrolled at Dartmouth College in 1892, and later at Harvard, but never
earned a formal degree.
continued here
(1874-1963)
