Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

I stop by those woods where it does snow
the woods I know
the woods I know well
where the village houses
the in-mates of tranquility
and being still.

These woods which do fill
up with snow
and whiteness and wash
where the horses think it queer
that a car should pass.

Where the farmhouse is near
and the woods and lake
freeze to life
in the darkest evening of the year.

Here where the harnessed bells do shake
and it is no mistake
that the sound of the broom sweeping
the wind and the lake
back East is lovely, dark and deep
for the woods too have their
promises to keep.
And it is miles upon miles
to go before you will find
such a place again
you who dwell in those concrete
metropolises
of regret and sin.