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Stopping by the woods on a snowy evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
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.
— Robert Frost
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.
— Robert Frost
