Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

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. 

 

Robert Frost

Faint Hints Toward Lovely Dreams

Upon this cliff I gently lie

And wait as white clouds roll on by

The birds that swiftly raise their wings

And whisk across the evening sky.

I wonder as the waves flow in,

Though silent 'til they cease and thin 

From every shore to curving shore,

But I can't help to think of when

The sun will sink and stars will glow

And gently casting light below

Will hint toward wishes of sweet dreams

And guide me toward my way back home

Where dreams, like waves, will freely flow

Where dreams, like waves, will freely flow.

nikai boyarko