With my bias for Robert Frost's dark - nature - obessessed poetry, below I add the famous and my favourite ...
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening - Robert Frost.
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's 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's 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.
2 comments:
The last para was posted on a colleague's cubicle... he was always working late :-)
The last para was written in my brother's friend's personal diary and I read this in the year book, in his obituary, on my first day at my first job... didn't feel nice :(
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