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.

Readings

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening read by Eileen Atkins
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening read by Alexandra Dowling
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening read by Derek Jacobi
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening read by Charles Dance
Select reading
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening read by Eileen Atkins
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening read by Alexandra Dowling
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening read by Derek Jacobi
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening read by Charles Dance
© Copyright 2025 The Josephine Hart Poetry Foundation. A charity registered in England and Wales number 1145062.