Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost


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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came across this masterpiece by Robert Frost after a long time... the last stanza just popped up in my head and now im reciting it even in my sleep...