Miles and miles and miles


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’s 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.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening is one of my very favourite Frost poems. I can’t even begin to explain how much his and his contemporaries’ work have had on my life. This one in particular always takes me back to our time on the road. 

*image taken right outside Big Horn National Park


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