Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening Robert Frost 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 drowsy 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. If you listen as you read this poem, you can almost hear the soft, snow-drifting silence. This is the winter solstice, the "darkest night of the year", just before the old year dies and the new one begins. And there is this, what?: a man, Death itself perhaps; pausing beside the dark, silent woods to watch the snow. He stands alone (but for the horse) and it would be so easy to give into the blissful silence and let the snow cover him.