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.
You have until Sunday 6th January to listen to the BBC iPlayer broadcast about Robert Frost's poem and his home in Vermont where it was written. Strangely enough he wrote it early in the morning on 21st June, the longest day. The narrator of the broadcast, a Scots poet, recounts that when he asks groups of children who they think is telling the story, they invariably say Father Christmas. Frost was very happy for us to have our own interpretations, so I hope you find a way for it to speak to you and have the time to listen to the programme (30 minutes).
The fabulous woodblock print is a card I bought from Etsy long ago and thought the title was joyfully evocative - I had no idea then that it was a line from what has become a favourite poem. You can click on the photograph and see it better in close-up.
Apology: Every cloud has a silver lining, if you are of a mind to make it so. But sometimes the grey lowering weather front takes a while to pass overhead and you can lose your confidence in the certainty of a shining lining. The last few weeks have taken me into some terra incognita, full of dragons, bewilderment and sometimes despair. The details are someone else's story, so will not be related here, but I claim the right to use it as a reason for the lack of blogging. But I'm back. I have promises to keep.