Page 87 - Universal

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.

–BY ROBERT FROST

85
The English Carnival-7