cultural criticism | photography | place & space

Cutting up Frost

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

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