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.