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 <a href="http://investorshub.advfn.com/boards/read_msg.aspx?message_id=41221741" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://investorshub.advfn.com/boards/read_msg.aspx?message_id=41221741</a>