What perfect timing for this annual winter post. Yesterday Boston was sunny and in the low 60s and this morning it is snowing. Above is a photo I’ve been using in recent years when I publish this poem. It was taken several years ago at dusk, while the snow was still falling. Sergio and I were walking back to my parent’s house on Lake Winnipesaukee.
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.
The poem was written by Robert Frost one hundred years ago in 1922 while he was living in Vermont. It was published a year later in Frost’s New Hampshire volume, earning the poet the 1924 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.
BosGuy 