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 was one of the poems that are always close to my heart. All of us (and in my case daily) see something mesmerizing or hear something rocking or read something that makes us forget where we are or what we are after. But as usual the ground reality comes ahead of all this and we have to leave our idyllic tryst with something that leaves us totally spellbound just to go back to the daily blinding grind of work. I am hearing an out of the world song and I need to switch off Mp3 since office has come or I am reading something but need to sleep for next day early start to office …somehow it explains what all of us go through day in and day out, of journey flitting through soft paradise of dreams and imagination and hard earth of facts and reality…the process of coming to reality is painful and hurting but what can do…its always “…but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep”
This is the reason this poem is really close to my heart.
