Robert Frost

While I’ve a nearly lifelong love for Kipling, plus a number of the classic english poets, I have also developed a liking for a number of poems by Robert Frost, such as this example posted recently at Men of the West.

STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING” 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.
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.

Enjoy.

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