Robert Frost<\/p>\n
Whose woods these are I think I know.
\nHis house is in the village, though;
\nHe will not see me stopping here
\nTo watch his woods fill up with snow.
\nMy little horse must think it queer
\nTo stop without a farmhouse near
\nBetween the woods and frozen lake
\nThe darkest evening of the year.<\/p>\n
He gives his harness bells a shake
\nTo ask if there is some mistake.
\nThe only other sound’s the sweep
\nOf easy wind and downy flake.
\nThe woods are lovely, dark and deep,
\nBut I have promises to keep,
\nAnd miles to go before I sleep,
\nAnd miles to go before I sleep.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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 … Continue reading