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.
I remember having heard the last stanza
when I was very young, and the echo of it kept rattling around in my head.
It was driving me nuts cuz I loved the sound of it but I had no idea what
was the poem it was a part of nor who wrote it. I'd hear it somewhere,
remembered it, and lost it again. And I could never get the words right.