This poem has always drawn me into its world, a world of breath-holding depth and mystery-laden simplicity. So many different interpretations. So many possibilities. So many emotional responses to a scene I have never literally experienced and yet whose memory seems my own. And miles to go before I sleep. Words too beautiful to try and explain. Too poignant to linger over too long. Too mesmerising to stop the echo of their whisper once the page has been closed.
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.