Quote:
Originally Posted by Brooklyn Bob
I'll have to give poetry another shot.
The last time I tried I could've sworn there was a 6'8" nun standing over me.  |
Stopping by the 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.
I think Robert left the 6'8" nun back at the barn.
This poem may seem simple (a Frost trademark), but there is much going on here, both poetically and thematically.