poem

Sometimes you read something years ago and it stays deep in your conscience. and suddenly out of the blue, you trigger it, and it all comes back again. This poem by Robert Frost is like that.

I read it first when I was in JC. Somehow it still has the comforting rhythm it had, 15 years ago.

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
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.