IN HONOR OF THE SNOW

STOPPING BY WOODS

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.

For a wonderful reading of this poem, complete with sound
affects, go to this link: http://youtube/nie5dGD6OQA.  Sorry, I
don't know how to link this, so you will have to copy/paste.