Journal WannaBeGeekGirl's Journal: A great poem for a difficult night. 1
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.
This poet, this great man, a cousin to my great grandfather--somehow, though generations separated us, his pen allows me a glimpse of his personality and his heart. I can only hope that some of that ink flowed down the bloodline to me.
This piece will always be my favorite of his. I know what it is to be called to the dark, deep woods in the freezing cold on the darkest night of the year, and to know that inside them awaits loveliness. Yet, I have my own "promises to keep" too.
I despair tonight, for I know I too have "miles to go before I sleep." Its so dark, so cold and the woods so lovely tonight. Promises promises. Thank you, my far off cousin. ~pf
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.
This poet, this great man, a cousin to my great grandfather--somehow, though generations separated us, his pen allows me a glimpse of his personality and his heart. I can only hope that some of that ink flowed down the bloodline to me.
This piece will always be my favorite of his. I know what it is to be called to the dark, deep woods in the freezing cold on the darkest night of the year, and to know that inside them awaits loveliness. Yet, I have my own "promises to keep" too.
I despair tonight, for I know I too have "miles to go before I sleep." Its so dark, so cold and the woods so lovely tonight. Promises promises. Thank you, my far off cousin. ~pf
Others of his... (Score:2)
Those texts were posted as part of an online poetry reading that I organized last year. If you're interested: Slashdot Poetry Reading main page [amilost.com]. The list of who read what [slashdot.org].