whose woods are these i think i know
his house is in the village though
but he'll not see me stopping here
to watch his woods fill up with snow

my littile horse must think it queer 
to stop without a famhouse near
between the woods and the  frozen lake
darkest evening of the year

he gives his harness bells a shake 
toask if there is some mistake
the only other sounds the sweep 
of easy wind and downy flake

the woods are lovelydark and deep
but i have promises to keep
and miles to go before i sleep
and miles to go before i sleep