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.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening - Robert Frost

The wind mocks me as it blows
The sun laughs as it shines

"We told you so" they cry
"Yet still, you didn't try"

I hang my head in shame
I wouldn't know who to blame

"Try again" the sun laughs
As the wind takes all from my grasp