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
These 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.
YOU ARE READING
Famous Poems
PoetryThis is a few poems I will continue updating with a lot more!!!!!! I hope to soon be able to move onto another book of poems but by less well known authors This book is dedicated to all the wonderful authors to whose work are in this books pages
