Okay, I promise I'll stop posting so much Frost soon, but his poems are great, and the whole point of poetry (usually) is to identify with it. And I can identify with this one. People can look at this poem and only see the words, but there's a meaning that can be wrested from it: the woods could be death, or solitary life. And those things are appetizing sometimes. Frost is attracted to the woods, but he's held back by the people and promises he's made, as well as the "miles to go" before he's allowed to "sleep." Always, I think, we should be looking for the deeper meanings in poems. Because they are there.
Stopping By Woods
Robert Frost
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.
