Whose woods these are I think I know.—Robert Frost, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” 1923.
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.
Photo, outside of Madison, Wisconsin, on a snowy evening, 28 December 2015.
- Photo by Albert Cizauskas, Jr. All rights reserved.
- Pic(k) of the Week: one in a weekly series of personal photos, usually posted on Saturdays, and often, but not always (such as today), with a good fermentable as a subject.
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