Robert Frost

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

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's 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's 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.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death.
Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow;
a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more:
it is a tale told by an idiot,
full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

--From Macbeth (V, v, 19)

The first cropcircle of 2007 - Oliver's Castle

Also check out www.cropcircleconnector.com

Copyright Steve Alexander 2007

Schooltrip London 2007 year 4

Visit to Waterloo May 26, 2007 Waterloo battlefield