Crumbs From the Corner: Adventures in Woolgathering

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Whose Woods

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

On Accidentally Discovering the True Meaning Behind Robert Frost's Mysterious Poem 'Stopping By Woods On a Snowy Evening.'

I stopped by woods this snowy noon
To draw my thoughts in calm commune;
To prompt my heart on joyous things;
To shake the harnessed grief that clings.
I glanced and there upon a tree
Words carved I glimpsed with thumping glee.
Such lines as those I'd never read
Now snowflakes softly touched my head.
I cut the tree and made a chair
I shall not tell: I do not dare.
There's magic in the knowing-not,
There's magic in the knowing knot.


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