Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,

 

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

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.

By Robert Frost.

Rage, Rage Against The Dying Of The Light.

 

Rage, Rage Against The Dying Of The Light.

 Rage, Rage Against The Dying Of The Light.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Old Age Should Burn And Rave At Close Of Day;

Rage, Rage Against The Dying Of The Light.

Though Wise Men At Their End Know Dark Is Right,

Because Their Words Had Forked No Lightning They

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night.

Good Men, The Last Wave By, Crying How Bright

Their Frail Deeds Might Have Danced In A Green Bay,

Rage, Rage Against The Dying Of The Light.

Wild Men who Caught And Sang The Sun In Flight,

And Learn, Too Late, They Grieved It On Its Way,

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night.

Grave Men, Near Death, Who See With Blinding Sight

Blind Eyes Could Blaze Like Meteors And Be Gay,

Rage, Rage Against The Dying Of The Light.

And You, My Father, There On The Sad Height,

Curse, Bless, Me Now With Your Fierce Tears, I Pray.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night.

Rage, Rage Against The Dying Of The Light.

Dylan Thomas

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.

By Robert Frost.