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's 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.
Robert Frost (1874-1963)
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's 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.
Robert Frost (1874-1963)
derGarfunkel - am Mittwoch, 21. Juli 2004, 13:17
