So yesterday, before it turned bitter, I took a little hike in our woods. The creek was partially frozen. Birds were scavenging. All was quiet. So quiet I could hear the snowflakes landing on my coat. It was amazing.....and made me incredibly grateful for our little place we lovingly call Sycamore Hill. The english major in me couldn't help but ponder this......
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
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, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” from The Poetry of Robert Frost,
edited by Edward Connery Lathem. Copyright 1923, © 1969 by Henry Holt
and Company, Inc., renewed 1951, by Robert Frost. Reprinted with the
permission of Henry Holt and Company, LLC.
Source: Collected Poems, Prose, & Plays (Library of America, 1995)
Source: Collected Poems, Prose, & Plays (Library of America, 1995)
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