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…

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy…