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.
poem by Robert Frost
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Related quotes
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.
Robert Frost in Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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.
quote by Robert Frost
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The woods are lovely, dark and deep.But I have promises to keep,And miles to go before I sleepAnd miles to go before I sleep.
quote by Robert Frost
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whose Words These Are Only God Knows
WHOSE WOODS THESE ARE ONLY GOD KNOWS
Whose woods these are only God knows
Sparse and bare the trees
A pleasant morning in the hottest time of the year-
My task here is no more-
The man I took care of for one year and one half is in his grave
His kind and good wife said goodbye
With a gift for my daughter and her child
And a compensation check for me.
What Promises are there for me to keep now?
In these last years
Before I too fade and die?
The woods are light and small
And the Developers will soon be here-
I look up out at the Hill of the Holy city
A soft calm wind blows-
Never have I been so still inside-
And miles to go before I sleep?
The City sad and light and deep.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.
quote by Robert Frost
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The lonely woods
In the lonely woods do I roam,
I get a good glimpse of everything,
when I walk through the lonely woods, and a sad song I sing.
I see a pretty bird's wing,
so beautiful, so shiny, like that of a silver ring.
I walk near a small stream,
and when I am tired, I stop near it, sleep and dream.
All around me is silence, there is no hatred and there is no violence.
this is what I like in the woods, the lonely woods,
so silent, so calm,
to me, the trees, and the animals, there is no harm,
this is the lonely woods.
poem by Savio Vogt
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The Way Through the Woods
They shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There was once a road through the woods
Before they planted the trees.
It is underneath the coppice and heath,
And the thin anemones.
Only the keeper sees
That, where the ring-dove broods,
And the badgers roll at ease,
There was once a road through the woods.
Yet, if you enter the woods
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools
Where the otter whistles his mate.
(They fear not men in the woods,
Because they see so few)
You will hear the beat of a horse's feet,
And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
Steadily cantering through
The misty solitudes,
As though they perfectly knew
The old lost road through the woods. . . .
But there is no road through the woods.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Deep Woods
When tender is the night, and the woods are deep
And the only light - as Orion's - piercing the dark,
Gazing a child in his sleep - child whomever he fears
He wishes he has gone, and left him to his sound sleep.
The river near is dark - not even dogs dare to bark -
And it's too far from any park - no wetness, no seep.
A child, who is left to a deathly sleep - still being mild
But the morn is far - too far to being left, way behind.
And Time! Oh Time! How dare you give a child
Endlessly sleep and those woods a languor that's oh so deep?
At dawn when life at woods again is dry,
And no reason is left to stay in the sky,
Orion takes care the child who now eternally sleeps,
The child sees someone - or something - dim:
A light - a palm that caresses him!
poem by Deniz Atay
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In the Land of Zephyr...
The wind scooped out the snow,
twirl, splashing the rowan in slumber,
shook its boughs of snow;
to emerald green rife with crimson.
The wind like a sot,
'twixt through woods;
In the woods, spruces of snow,
hailed the wind to mystique umber,
here, with rubble rills row;
here, wild lives in unison.
The wind like a sot,
'twixt through lea, afar woods;
Lea, where near crystal brooks, cows mow,
here, in meadows, mouse grows cucumber,
here, merlins, as I know;
swirls with wind to horizon.
The wind like a sot,
'twixt, aloft heaven, afar woods, afar lea...
poem by Aparna Veeyou
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The Lonely Woods
in the lonely woods i'm lost
surrounded by shards of frost
is there a path i haven't crossed?
no. yet in the lonely woods i'm lost
in the lonely woods at night
trapped and locked up in deep fright
no movement, no heat and no light
just the sound of my breath in the lonely
woods
poem by Jonathan Fabianski
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The Green Woods Of Truagh
In the green woods of Truagh we met without fear,
Your kiss on my lips, and your voice in my ear,
Your tender arms about me, and your eyes glad and clear–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh the days go on wings,
On every brown branch a gladsome bird sings
And the fragrant amber blossom of the honey-suckle swings–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh the bracken stands high,
And wells of spring-water in deep hollows lie,
And the red deer is browsing in the cool shadows nigh–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh no sorrow dared stay,
The lark called me early at dawn o' the day,
And o'er my sleep at night pleasant dreams used to play–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh you wait till I come–
I left home and you for the stranger's far home,
To bring a hoard of yellow gold across the grey foam–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh–if God hears my prayer–
I shall reach you, O true love, my empty hands there,
For little of the yellow gold has fallen to my share–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh–your heart on my own,
And your bright hair in ringlets across my cheek blown
Now where in all the wide, wide world, could greater bliss be known?
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
poem by Anna Johnston MacManus
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Refugees
They want us to leave.
They say it's too dangerous.
Neighbor killing neighbor
In the middle of the night.
Who can you trust?
Nobody.
You never know what will happen.
So the neighbors and I
And my family
Gather our belongings and leave.
The village behind us
Quiet
Gives the effect of an empty house,
Where the last remaining person
Has died.
But nobody will know for weeks.
We walk on
Miles upon miles
With frightened children crying,
Old people dying, and the tired
Needing sleep.
We walk on.
Others join our people train.
Walking through rough terrain,
Walking through woods and snow,
Through frozen streams
We go on.
Everyone has a story to tell.
I think,
'Dear God! What could be worse than this?
This is our hell.
I'm paying for crimes
I did not even commit.'
We walk on.
We walk on.
The war has started,
And,
We walk on.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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The Road Never To Be Taken
I stand by a descending road
That runs down to some dark woods unseen before
And I see no other pedestrian passing by.
As I look on I see a few foot prints running down
None returning from there though.
I stand confounded and confined there.
I have just come out only a few yards
And none knows whether I have come out of my home at all.
Many think I am inside it lost in slumber.
The road is not that easy to travel
Though I can`t sleep like ever before.
They think I ever sleep and never travel.
The dark woods let out a strange cry.
It reaches the skies and reverberates unto my ears
And I begin to retreat.
The ghost of the lucky poet haunts me
As I can never tell the story of the road not taken.
My road was laid by someone cruel!
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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The Woods
My sorrow lives in the woods.
I cannot complain to anyone.
I must bear it to the woods
in the deepest loneliness.
If ever in future times
someone comes for that reason
he can find in the woods
the shy sorrow of my heart.
When he sees far off in the woods,
alone and quiet,
the deepest shadows lying,
that is my somber sorrow
poem by James Comerford
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A Ballad Of The Trees And The Master
Into the woods my Master went,
Clean forspent, forspent.
Into the woods my Master came,
Forspent with love and shame.
But the olives they were not blind to Him,
The little gray leaves were kind to Him:
The thorn-tree had a mind to Him
When into the woods He came.
Out of the woods my Master went,
And He was well content.
Out of the woods my Master came,
Content with death and shame.
When Death and Shame would woo Him last,
From under the trees they drew Him last:
'Twas on a tree they slew Him -- last
When out of the woods He came.
poem by Sidney Lanier
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The River That Flows On and On
In the mist of darkness,
Lies Deep Dark Woods,
Where the river of hatred flows on and on,
The river is dark, it is black
It is filled with sins really so bad,
It has no light, for it gives no light,
It makes the surrounding worse than night,
The people there are worse than monsters,
Never go there; it’s really very dreadful,
Then one day there came a man filled with light,
He wasn’t scared, he was alright,
He went into the Woods so dark,
And saw everything with not even a frightful start
He saw the people, who were really weird,
But still his mind was not filled with fear,
He went to river, he looked at it,
He saw the sins of mankind and sobbed with tears,
He returned home and reported his sighting,
He said it’s because of humans that the river was spoilt,
The people did their best, good not bad,
The woods grew brighter and brought out joys,
It had many visitors, not so spoilt,
The river then flowed with a gleaming light,
It was filled with the goodness of mankind,
And soon the Deep Dark Woods were called the Woods of Light.
poem by Meriam Joseph
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This Lake of Woods
As we travel through this lake of woods,
the calmness of your love
cools and caresses the deep,
dappled pockets
of my soul,
as I need to be
wrapped
forever
within your love
as we travel through this lake of woods
poem by Heather Moreton
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Telling The Truth
Telling of Truths
A brown horse galloped across a snowy field at the end
of the pasture a fence, it jumped over and continued its
crazy gallop into the woods only came to a shuddering
halt when it saw a moose. Steaming nostrils, the moose
charged, horse fled deeper into the woods. Where it met
a forest troll who took it into his cave and gave the horse
a bucket of hot chocolate to drink. Since the snow deep
and tiring to sink into when walking, the troll also fitted
the horse with snow shoes; also, the troll had no need of
a horse led it back to its field. When the farmer came to
fetch his horse and saw the snowshoes, he had a nervous
breakdown and sent away to an asylum, where doctors
tried to convince him it was all in his mind. But the farmer
would have none of it. So he is still there and they will not
release him until he agrees with them that a horse wears
iron shoes and not snowshoes.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Into the Woods
A walk into the woods, any woods,
Singing will change all the moods.
I'll fly into the woods to escape,
And while there I shall rape,
The vine of its berry,
Then watch the bird be airy,
I'll steal the sun of its shine,
Yes, it all will be mine,
For only that moment while I am there,
Now I shall leave the air to the air.
Thanks to the higher power,
For all this time hour by hour,
We shall all know when it is time to go,
But for now, shall we walk just a little bit slow?
poem by Alice June
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Ingratitude
when the dragonfly
got lost in the woods,
the wind accommodated it
pushing it towards
its home,
when the wind travels and passes
over the dragonfly town
it looks for that blue dragonfly that it helped one time
in the woods,
the wind asks for nothing
but the dragonfly so safe in its house
looks at the wind
not even mentioning its name
it hurts so the wind goes away
as usual
on same spirited wings not asking for anything
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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