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

Frost is famous for his poems about rural life in New England. You might know The Road Not Taken, about another quiet moment in a soul-full woods. I've always liked this poem and it actually snowed in the desert this week (the photo was taken in front of our house). Wonderful.