by Beta Tester

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stoppping 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 mistakes.
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.

 

 

                                                                  Your Love