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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
The only other sound's
the sweep
Of easy wind and downy
The woods are lovely,
dark and deep.
But I have promises to
And miles to go before I
And miles to go before I

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