Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Frost, Robert (1875-1963)

  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.
   

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Chief Modern Poets of England and America, 4th Ed (Sanders, Nelson & Rosenthal)