poem=Whose woods these are I think I know.<br>His house is in the village though;<br>He will not see me stopping here<br>To watch his woods fill up with snow.<br><br>My little horse must think it queer<br>To stop without a farmhouse near<br>Between the woods and frozen lake<br>The darkest evening of the year.<br><br>He gives his harness bells a shake<br>To ask if there is some mistake.<br>The only other sound's the sweep<br>Of easy wind and downy flake.<br><br>The woods are lovely, dark and deep,<br>But I have promises to keep,<br>And miles to go before I sleep,<br>And miles to go before I sleep.<br>