Stopping by the 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's 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.
Snowy Evening by Eric Palson
City Scape by Gustav Cailebtte 'Boulevard Haussman, Snow.
Horse and sleigh by Allison Benbrook. Peek in here to see more of her work
