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Please note that this poem is written by Robert Frost not me. You might see “by Muhammad Arooj” above, it is due to the website’s setting and I’m posting this from mobile. Please excuse my laziness and mobility.

This is one of my favourite English language poems, so posting it here.

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.
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