Whose Woods...

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 misake.
                                         The only other sound's the sweep
                                         Of easy wind and downy flake.

                                         The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
                                         But I have promised to keep,
                                         And miles to go before I sleep,
                                         And miles to go before I sleep.



It just seemed fitting today with all the blustery, blowing, swirling snow, that we had today!