Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I assume I know.

However, his home is in the town;

He won't see me halting here

To watch his woods top off with snow.

My little pony should think it eccentric

To stop without a farmhouse close

Between the forest and frozen lake

The most obscure night of the year.

He gives his saddle ringers a shake

To inquire as to whether there is some mix-up.

The main other sound's the compass

Of simple breeze and wool chip.

The forest are exquisite, dim, and profound,

In any case, I have vows to keep,

Furthermore, miles to go before I rest,

Also, miles to go before I rest.