For a long time I didn’t get poetry. I always admired it and knew, deep down, that well written verse was something to be admired I just wasn’t sure why.
Robert Frost’s ‘Stopping by woods on a snowy evening’ is the piece that helped me ‘get’ poetry and proved that great art, regardless of media, can carry a big personal impact. Sometimes just when you need it.
Stopping by woods on a snowy evening by Robert Frost (Read by Stephen Gordon)
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