| Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening by 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 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. This poem is in the public domain. |
Personal Analysis
This was one of the first poems I memorized in school. Junior High, if my mind serves me correctly. It’s a favorite that notates the hope of an introverted quiet life. One I aspire to live. Where is this found? Well, it must be a cold place, far from the clamor and lights of town. A place that is full of snow that allows one to nestle into the winter with a quiet feeling of peace. Dark, full of trees and hanging branches full of snow. A place where everything is lovely, dark and deep.
The key? Will I ever get there? Most probably not. The closest I come to it is wishing for life much as others have lived. Check out this gentleman in Alaska, far off the grid, living a week on, a week off. Commuting between a job in the city, and life in the country. [Source]
Until that day, when everything slows down, I still have miles to go before I sleep. Then, I want to rest in these woods far from the clatter of anxious sounding people and the clamor of noise. No news. No social platform. Nothing but the quiet woods, full of continual snow, quiet. Dark. Deep. Retreat.