It has become a tradition that each winter I post this poem by Robert Frost. The poem was written nearly 100 years ago in 1922 and published a year later in his Pulitzer-Prize winning “New Hampshire” volume of poetry.
As with past years, I’m including a photo taken of me while walking back to my parent’s house at Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire during a snow storm. You’ll note the street hadn’t even been plowed and it felt like we were the only ones around. The photo (much like Frost’s poem) remains a favorite.
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.