November at Wyalusing State Park


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.



*Robert Frost
New Hampshire
1923

Additional December, 2010 photos found here.