By Robert Frost
(1874-1963)
First, a bizarre association to this poem - my godson, Kevin, knows this poem and informed me that it can be recited to the tune “Hernando’s Hideaway”, a once familiar but now obscure pop song. Kevin did not make this up; it was inflicted upon him by a member of his family. I tried it. It works. But (and this is a significant “but”), it took me a solid week to get it out of my head. You are forewarned.
I love this poem for all the usual reasons—the tone it sets, the fact that it celebrates winter and, of course, the mesmeric final lines. My attraction runs deeper, though. It is a meditation; a pause during a trip; a private moment amidst pressing demands. In short, it marks a moment of peace. And then the rider continues the journey. A moment of respite and then we soldier on. It seems like a human universal— how we deal with duty.
The last three lines deserve a comment, though they have enjoyed a wealth of reflection by many people over the years. They are the kind of lines that make poets of others.
But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.
It is getting late in the day (or in life) and the rider is brought back from his moment of reflection by the realization that others are relying upon him and that he has much left to do. Why repeat the last line? Often, people say it imparts a dream-like quality. I can hear that. I can also hear resolve and determination.
Reciting the poem seems to work better if I cluster the lines differently from the way they appear on the page. Normally, they are in standard four-line stanzas. But, over the years, I’ve noticed if I recite some lines on their own while grouping others, I can recreate the rider’s reverie in the woods and his return to the demands of the day.
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 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.
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