Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

The woods are lovely, dark, & deep: Robert Frost / Reinfried Marass

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. … Continue reading →