BY ROBERT FROST
As the copyright has ended for one of Robert Frost’s most famous poems and it is a reflection while gazing at woods, I thought I would print the whole poem before the phrases become commonplace on t-shirts, coffee cups, and anything else you can think of. Among other things, Frost’s poem reminds us of how woods can be a call to contemplation.
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.