quarta-feira, 24 de outubro de 2007

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."

Robert Frost [1874-1963)

Um comentário:

Anônimo disse...

Great poem my friend,
Actually I am just waiting up here for the snow to fall from the skies and fill up the leafless tress around.
Ha ve a good day.