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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 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 (1874-1963) was born in San Francisco, and his father, a newspaper editor, died when he was 10. His mother then took him to live with his Grandfather in Massachusetts. He married his high school sweetheart in 1895, and for the next twenty or so years made a living through a combination of farming, teaching and writing. The Frosts lived in England between 1912 and 1915; and it was from about this time on that Robert Frost was able to make a full-time living as a writer. This poem was published in 1923. Honours, awards and prizes followed Frost from then on, and he died in Boston in 1963.


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