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.
One of my friend Drew's favorite poems
Update: Every Day is a Good Day
11 years ago
Posts
I've always loved this poem. The miles-to-go have changed over time and from moment to moment. Early it carried the power of work yet to be started, later a question of what could remain unfinished.
ReplyDeleteI love it, too. One of the first I learned in school, or maybe at home...I can't remember now.
ReplyDeleteI like your thoughts on it; what can we leave unfinished? Something to think about....