Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

[Corjack]

I think you guys are in need of a little culture so here is one of my favorite poems.


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.

-- Robert Frost

[retrieverman]

That has always been one of my favorites too.

[BH206L3]

Mine too, I like to say that one in Open lodge at Christmas Time. I am not as good as say Richard Burton, but My lodge brothers seem to enjoy it.

[Corjack]

A Danish poem

Three times nine girls, but one girl rode ahead,
white-skinned under her helmet;
the horses were trembling, from their manes
dew fell into the deep valleys,
hail in the high woods;
good fortune comes to men from there;

[Ploika]

This is my favourite (english) poem. Read it first time in Hornady's reloading manual, 3rd edition. It was printed as a tribute to Joyce Hornady who just had been killed in a plane crash.

Let me die working,
Still tackling plans unfinished, tasks undone!
Clean to its end, swift may my race be run.
No laggard steps, no faltering, no shirking;
Let me die working.

Let me die thinking,
Let me fare forth still with an open mind,
Fresh secrets to unfold, new truths to find,
My soul undimmed, alert, no question blinking;
Let me die thinking.

Let me die, laughing.
No sighing o'er past sins, They are forgiven.
Spilled on this earth are all the joys of Heaven.
The wine of life.
The cup of mirth quaffing,
Let me die, laughing.

Dr. S. Hall Young, around 1904

[Corjack]

This is my favourite (english) poem. Read it first time in Hornady's reloading manual, 3rd edition. It was printed as a tribute to Joyce Hornady who just had been killed in a plane crash.

Let me die working,
Still tackling plans unfinished, tasks undone!
Clean to its end, swift may my race be run.
No laggard steps, no faltering, no shirking;
Let me die working.

Let me die thinking,
Let me fare forth still with an open mind,
Fresh secrets to unfold, new truths to find,
My soul undimmed, alert, no question blinking;
Let me die thinking.

Let me die, laughing.
No sighing o'er past sins, They are forgiven.
Spilled on this earth are all the joys of Heaven.
The wine of life.
The cup of mirth quaffing,
Let me die, laughing.

Dr. S. Hall Young, around 1904

An excellent contribution Mr. Ploika!