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A classic poem for a classic snow day


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, New Hampshire, 1923



The photos were taken under the shelter of my front porch.

One Comment

  1. Quetal wrote:

    I hope the new storm heading your way treats you well. A good book, Lily by your side, fire place roaring (is it gas?) should ease your nerves.

    Friday, February 5, 2010 at 9:36 pm | Permalink

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