26 de março de 2006

Robert Frost (1874-1936)

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.

Robert Frost


2 comentários:

João Villalobos disse...

Robert Frost é um dos poetas que me faz querer escrever melhor. Obrigado por esta oportunidade de reler este tão profundo e musical poema :)

Graça disse...

Sempre ao dispor. E tenho a certeza de que hão-de surgir mais poemas de Frost por aqui.