sexta-feira, 23 de maio de 2025

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


Sem comentários:

Enviar um comentário

The irreversible consequences of russification

Russian lessons started early, as soon as you entered elementary school. Zenith 5 pens were all the rage back then. I ran to my mother to pl...