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.
In sixth grade we had to recite this poem by Robert Frost, it is one I have never forgotten. I remember our teacher asking us what we thought it meant. Some of my classmates thought of Santa Claus, some of just a man enjoying the snowy evening. But not me. To me this poem implies darkness, a man losing himself. He wants to no longer exist. The woods are nothingness. They are lovely and inviting. They offer deliverance from torment. But he knows he has promises, responsibilities, and an entire life to live.
I sometimes find myself lingering on the edge of these deep dark woods knowing that the sadness I sometimes feel would vanish upon entering the wood. But I too have promises, I too have many miles. I do not wish to leave behind a family that makes these woods so much less inviting. But the reason for wanting to stop by these woods, why these feelings I feel come and go at will, still remains a mystery to me.
