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.

BY ROBERT FROST

December 25 A letter on Christmas day

Hello fan

I, Robert Frost, wish all of you a merry Christmas. Sometimes I look down out of my astral fabric in the mundane life of yours. I still reside in grey lines and rustling of pages. I know I have been inculpated for keeping a dual face, one for public and another one is personal.

I know an artist wants to leave a mysterious aura behind him which can be Wheeler of discombobulation for readers. I leave it upon my researchers to probe it whether it has truth or not. On Christmas day I will reveal a thing to all of you. It was a story of my days spent with my wife and three daughters Lesley ,Irma ,Elinor at my farm house. Our days Were full of suavity and cheered one. It was an autumn eve. I went to the market to sell goods to buy Christmas gifts for my daughters. Unfortunately I didn't sell it and the money was not sufficient enough to buy gifts. I returned with a dismal mood, there were downy flakes in the surrounding reflecting my inner feeling. I stopped midway and sat there ,"bawled like a baby, the snow gave me its shelter, the horse understood and gave me the time "

Horse shook it's harness bell which brought me to reality and I went to my home.

Look, it's not a word or stanza gives the poem an everlasting life but a zenith of emotion and feeling brings permanent magic. As deep the dive would be more like heightened grandeur of poetry. My tears created an ocean that day, such was overflow on that day, out of which my poem "STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING" emerged.

Though I told previously in a mere superficial way that I wrote this poem in hallucination, for it I have been blamed for being a hypocrite.

Please take this revelation as a Christmas gift !

YOUR'S

ROBERT FROST

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