Posted on 12/31/2009 7:41:18 AM PST by #1CTYankee
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.
Line 2 appears to have an unnecessary comma, when compared with one of my texts.
Lovely poem. The last part was used in some spy novel or movie to wake up the sleeper agents. I don't remember which one.
A work of literature, particularly a poem, doesn't "have to be" about anything that's not specifically contained in the text. All metaphorical interpretations are part of the personal interaction between the writer and the reader that makes literature different from news reportage or Twitter posts.
Close, that would be miles to go before I can:
Become a millionaire, lying, fraud hypocrite.
Back when horsepower was measured by a tail count, people traveled by horse. Groups and freight traveled in horse drawn vehicles like carriages and wagons. In the winter they used sleighs, sledges and sleds along with the wheeled vehicles so rather than plow the roads they would compact them with one of these heavy rollers.
This photograph was taken in VT circa 1941, which was certainly the end of the era. If the thought of driving on compacted snow may seem strange, remember: most roads weren't paved, they would throw sand on slippery spots, they didn't have much reason to go anywhere, but church, in the country winter, less traffic and slower speeds, cars used chains, and horses had winter caulks on their shoes.
I think this poem is great because of the multiple interpretations. The “darkest evening of the year” could refer to despair or to the actual darkness outside. Why does the horse shake the harness bells? Did the horse really think it was “queer” to stop there, or was it the traveler’s own doubts? I’ve never figured that out. I think that your interpretation is also valid. I’m glad this was posted this morning. Interesting.
With the semicolon at the end of the line, the comma before “though” is unnecessary, grammatically. (Like the one I just used before “grammatically” ;-). The author could have included it as a vocalization cue, or just because that’s the way he would write prose.
Looks like line 13 has one as well. Don’t people understand that commas are scarce in these troubled times?
I don't feel like pulling out all of my print versions of this poem, but I'll wager that there is no comma there because Frost didn't want one there.
Frost was a masterful poet. This is one of my favorites.
Man, he was good.
In the summer of 1961, I studied this poem in terrific depth in my English lit class.
I can’t remember a damn thing about what we discussed or learned.
I have not read this in a book for a long time. I think it’s in the poetry unit of my son’s literature course from last year, because I remember his asking me about it.
It can be about anything you want, just don't slip into the deconstructionist bog, or I'll have to send somebody to get you out.
For example, stanza one: the woods belong to God and the house is a church.
The old dog barks backwards without getting up.
I can remember when he was a pup.
Just don’t tell your son that Frost dropped out of Dartmouth. He might get ideas.
Funny you should post this one, it is one I think of almost every day. Not the whole poem, but the last three lines come to my mind towards the latter part of nearly every day, as I begin to get fatigued from the hectic pace of of my day - promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep. I love this poem.
But, like the narrator, I've got miles to go, as well. We're heading up to NH to pick up SirKit's brother, who has been at a Priests Retreat all week.
We were also taught in college that this poem is about death, but it always sounded to me like he was in love with a married woman. The husband neglects her for his mistress in town, and she is slowly sinking into despair. But Frost is married too, so he does nothing. Reread it with this idea in mind and see if it makes sense to you.
Interesting that several somewhat different interpretations have been posted. I was taught that anything you can find in good literature is valid, at least for you. Literature which is an obvious propaganda rant and does not allow this complexity and richness of interpretation is not great.
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