Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

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.

                                                   —Robert Frost.

Doe mee met de conversatie

2 reacties

  1. Vermassen in 1989 al. 🙂 Samen met “The road not taken.” Dat laatste is een onwaarschijnlijk gerief voor piekeraars.

Laat een reactie achter

Zeg uw gedacht

Deze website gebruikt Akismet om spam te verminderen. Bekijk hoe je reactie-gegevens worden verwerkt.