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Givnology Wellness Arts
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Reply to "The Magic of Winter"

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.

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