Friday poem: 'Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening'

06 January 2017

By 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.
 
 
Who says January has to be depressing? We're taking the cold, dark winter evenings as an opportunity to stay in and spring clean our bookshelves. Here's just a few of the exciting new books coming your way over the next few months. 
 

>>>Our most anticipated books of 2017

 

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