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.
Love thisshot! All the wonderful lines and shapes and that road... this was the earliest poem I can recall being taught in grammar school and it has remained a favorite of mine and oh it fits perfectly. No wonder I instantly fav’d your lovely capture!
Thank you all for your comments about my photo of the woods that I paired with Robert Frost's famous poem, although his woods were in New England. You may recognize the woods from my photo from the day before of a snow globe: https://365project.org/janeandcharlie/365/2018-12-29
Most of the trees I photograph are cottonwoods and aspen, but this is the only pecan grove in the city of Albuquerque.