• In a world of separation, art connects

TODAY

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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 soundís 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. .
(R. Frost)

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