For the past few years, each winter I share this poem by American poet, Robert Frost. The poem was written ninety-nine years ago while living in Vermont back in 1922 and it was published a year later in Frost’s New Hampshire volume. The book earned Frost the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1924. One of the reasons I love Frost is because his poetry is so accessible but at the same time he elevates the experience through his use of words, rhythm and symoblism.
Above is a photo Sergio took when we were walking to my parent’s house at Lake Winnipesaukee. It was dusk and the snow was still falling. It felt like we were the only ones around. The photo is a favorite of mine and reminds me of this poem. We are only missing a horse, harness and bells.
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.