quarta-feira, 7 de abril de 2010

"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


[Na imagem "Still Winter", aguarela de Hannah Michael Gale Shapero apud pyracantha-dot-com]

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