https://poets.org/poem/stopping-woods-snowy-evening Skip to main content Poets.org mobileMenu * Poems * Poets * Poem-a-Day * National Poetry Month * Materials for Teachers * Literary Seminars * American Poets Magazine Main navigation * Poets.org * Academy of American Poets * National Poetry Month * American Poets Magazine User account menu * Log in * Membership * Donate Donate Donate Poets.org Search [ ] Submit Poems Find and share the perfect poems. Page submenu block * find poems * find poets * poem-a-day * literary seminars * materials for teachers * poetry near you Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening * Share on Facebook * Share on Twitter * Share on Tumblr * View print mode * Copy embed code Add to anthology x Robert Frost 1874 - 1963 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. This poem is in the public domain. Robert Frost One of the most celebrated figures in American poetry, Robert Frost was the author of numerous poetry collections, including New Hampshire (Henry Holt and Company, 1923). Born in San Francisco in 1874, he lived and taught for many years in Massachusetts and Vermont. He died in Boston in 1963. About Robert Frost Occasion Winter Themes Nature Night Pastoral Public Domain Sign up for Poem-a-Day * indicates required Email Address * [ ] [Subscribe] [ ] More by this poet A Line-storm Song The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift, The road is forlorn all day, Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift, And the hoof-prints vanish away. The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee, Expend their bloom in vain. Come over the hills and far with me, And be my love in the rain. Robert Frost 1913 Not to Keep They sent him back to her. The letter came Saying... and she could have him. And before She could be sure there was no hidden ill Under the formal writing, he was in her sight-- Living.-- They gave him back to her alive-- How else? They are not known to send the dead-- And not disfigured visibly. His face?-- Robert Frost 2018 A Time to Talk When a friend calls to me from the road And slows his horse to a meaning walk, I don't stand still and look around On all the hills I haven't hoed, And shout from where I am, What is it? No, not as there is a time to talk. I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground, Blade-end up and five feet tall, Robert Frost 1916 Newsletter Sign Up * [ ] Academy of American Poets Newsletter * [ ] Academy of American Poets Educator Newsletter * [ ] Teach This Poem * [ ] Poem-a-Day Email Address [ ][Subscribe] [ ] Support Us * Become a Member * Donate Now * Get Involved * Make a Bequest * Advertise with Us Follow Us * Facebook * Twitter * Tumblr * SoundCloud * YouTube * Instagram * Pinterest Footer * poets.org + Find Poems + Find Poets + Poetry Near You + Jobs for Poets + Literary Seminars + Privacy Policy + Press Center + Advertise * academy of american poets + About Us + Programs + Prizes + First Book Award + James Laughlin Award + Ambroggio Prize + Chancellors + Staff * national poetry month + Poetry & the Creative Mind + Dear Poet Project + Poster + 30 Ways to Celebrate + Sponsorship * american poets + Books Noted + Essays + Advertise (c) Academy of American Poets, 75 Maiden Lane, Suite 901, New York, NY 10038 poets .org