标签:文学欣赏
分类:评论
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 farm-house 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 is 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.
(原文地址：http://xiaonei.chinaren.com/blog/huangxiaoabc/15482603)
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