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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2003-03-06 | [This text should be read in romana] | Submited by dumitru cioaca-genuneanu
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 is 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 ga before I sleep.
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