(National Poetry Month, Day 14)
Upon wanting to go outside to catch a glimpse of the lunar eclipse, but realizing that I have many, many papers to grade, and it’s already 11:10pm, I am reminded of a poem that my sister and I memorized as children, because our father recited it so often.
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 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.