Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
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.
It's been a while really, since I've read much Robert Frost, but I remember quite loving him before I went to university and heard that he wasn't cool. As I've said before, I find it difficult really to read rhyme, at least in contemporary poetry. However, Frost is Frost, and there is such perfection in his rhyme and rhythm. I've always had a use for him, and never more so than last night. I have, you see, a teenager who isn't particularly enjoying grade 9. Who ever does, I suppose. During the day she's all emotion and moods, but before bed, naturally, she quite comes alive, and we have beautiful talks. Last night she wanted to read the above poem. She loves Frost, and has a selected of his, that she bought herself. Strangely, this poem is not in it. So I printed her off a copy to tuck in her book. And we read it out loud, her, then me. And then I hauled out some Wendell Berry poems, and read those as well. But her response to Stopping by Woods, is one I shall always treasure. And our small discussion of what makes it so lovely. And our subsequent discussion about poetry in general. She considers herself a 'science' person, but has always, in my mind, had quite a poet's soul. I suppose scientists often do.
Meanwhile. These photos are from a week ago, more? It's all a blur....
I do know that we've had snow, rain, sun, frost, gray skies, blue, you name it, in the last few weeks we've had a bit of everything. But one can feel that winter descends, dark, lovely, deep. Soon we shall be buried.
I've been busy with my new Canadian Poetries site. At first I worried that it would stretch me too much, that Calm Things would become a casualty...but in truth, I think I'll need this even more as time goes on. But I am enjoying the small bits of excitement the new site is generating. Very much.