Poem of the month: Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
December’s poem is by Robert Frost.
On the first of every month, I send a poem to a random, and ever-expanding, group of past and present colleagues. I’ve been doing it for about 16 years.
This month’s is Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost.
I learned this in school and it’s one of the few poems I can recite. I did so at a party a few years ago (because I’m a terrible singer). It landed quite well, I’m happy to report.
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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