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STOPPING BY WOODS
ON A SNOWY
EVENING

by Robert FROST

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 sounds 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.






(http://litopys.kiev.ua/), 15 2014 .









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i ii, ii Ctrl+Enter.

I.   IX-XVIII .