Seeking The Light
Whose woods these are I think I know. My little horse must think it queer He gives his harness bells a shake The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
His house is in the village though; To stop without a farmhouse near To ask if there is some mistake But I have promises to keep,
He will not see me stopping here Between the woods and frozen lake The only other sound's the sweep And miles to go before I sleep,
To watch his woods fill up with snow. The darkest evening of the year. Of easy wind and downy flake And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening