Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

The title of this blog is taken from a classical work by Robert Frost, the oft-quoted American poet. Frost often wrote about the rural life of New England. He was very popular and won four Pulitzer prizes during his lifetime. This poem was written in 1922 and published in 1923 in his New Hampshire volume.

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's 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.