domingo, 12 de julho de 2009

Poema do domingo

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's 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 (1874-1963)

2 comentários:

c* disse...


John Sidney McCain III disse...

Cade o Tiago? Robert Frost é coisa de eletista, bom mesmo é o Tarso Genro (um excerto da brilhante obra: "Quanto te esperei e quanto sêmen inútil desperdicei até hoje"). Também conhecido como Ministro P...