Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I find a different aroma in this poem, a relation that keeps me hooked to it. May be its just due to the everyday happenings that sometimes leave a mark. I am in the woods mourning unconsciously for the old, dark happenings. My cries may turn the dark, haunting forest even more cold (with snow) but the 'owner' of the world stands nowhere to see my anxieties, my pains and my sorrows. I realize that I am alone... even my companion doubts my stay here. Steadily, I begin loving this sadness. I decide to give up everything that mattered and continue life in this chilling beauty but I am enthused by nature and its grace to keep going ahead.
Whose woods are these 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 a 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 winds 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
Stopping by woods on a snowy evening
Whose woods are these 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 a 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 winds 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
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