This classic winter poem is, I believe, literally the first "real" poem I ever experienced. I memorized it when I was about four or five years old and recited it for various bemused adults. I'm sure watching a small child reciting a poem with themes of melancholy and death was rather, um, delightfully ironic. :)
(Unfortunately, unlike the rest of the country, it is still not snowing here in Oregon. Winter has been rather uneventful here. Alas.)
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.
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