Gaps 4 ,
Whose woods these think I know.
His house is the village, though;
He will not me stopping here
To watch his up with snow.
My little horse think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his bells a shake
To ask if is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to before I sleep,
And miles to before I sleep.