Question

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
Pin
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.​

Answer 1

Answer:

One of my favourite childhood poems.

"The road not taken" by Robert Frost.

Explanation:

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