Course Code:01UA303T Course Name: Environmental Literature

Topic: Stopping By The

Woods On A Snowy Evening
by Robert
Frost

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ROBERT
FROST

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 About the poet

Robert Lee Frost (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963) was an American poet.
His work was initially published in England before it was published in the United
States. Known for his realistic depictions of rural life and his command of
American colloquial speech, Frost frequently wrote about settings from rural life
in New England in the early 20th century, using them to examine complex social This Photo by Unknown
Author is licensed under

and philosophical themes.

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Frequently honored during his lifetime, Frost is the only poet to receive
four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry. He became one of America's rare "public literary
figures, almost an artistic institution". He was awarded the Congressional Gold
Medal in 1960 for his poetic works. On July 22, 1961, Frost was named poet
laureateof Vermont.
Stopping by the woods on a Snowy Evening
Stopping by Woods on a
Snowy Evening

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.

 SUMMARY AND ANALYSIS

On the surface, this poem is simplicity itself. The speaker is stopping by some woods on a
snowy evening. He or she takes in the lovely scene in near-silence, is tempted to stay longer,
but acknowledges the pull of obligations and the considerable distance yet to be traveled
before he or she can rest for the night.

This is a poem to be marveled at and taken for granted. Like a big stone, like a body of water,
like a strong economy, however it was forged it seems that, once made, it has always been
there. Frost claimed that he wrote it in a single nighttime sitting; it just came to him. Perhaps
one hot, sustained burst is the only way to cast such a complete object, in which form and
content, shape and meaning, are alloyed inextricably. One is tempted to read it, nod quietly
in recognition of its splendor and multivalent meaning, and just move on. But one must write
essays. Or study guides.
Like the woods it describes, the poem is lovely but entices us with dark depths—of
interpretation, in this case. It stands alone and beautiful, the account of a man stopping by
woods on a snowy evening, but gives us a come-hither look that begs us to load it with a
full inventory of possible meanings. We protest, we make apologies, we point to the
dangers of reading poetry in this way, but unlike the speaker of the poem, we cannot resist.
The last two lines are the true culprits. They make a strong claim to be the most celebrated
instance of repetition in English poetry. The first “And miles to go before I sleep” stays
within the boundaries of literalness set forth by the rest of the poem. We may suspect, as
we have up to this point, that the poem implies more than it says outright, but we can’t
insist on it; the poem has gone by so fast, and seemed so straightforward. Then comes the
second “And miles to go before I sleep,” like a soft yet penetrating gong; it can be neither
ignored nor forgotten. The sound it makes is “Ahhh.” And we must read the verses again
and again and offer trenchant remarks and explain the “Ahhh” in words far inferior to the
poem. For the last “miles to go” now seems like life; the last “sleep” now seems like death.
The basic conflict in the poem, resolved in the last stanza, is between an attraction toward the
woods and the pull of responsibility outside of the woods. What do woods represent? Something
good? Something bad? Woods are sometimes a symbol for wildness, madness, the pre-rational, the
looming irrational. But these woods do not seem particularly wild. They are someone’s woods,
someone’s in particular—the owner lives in the village. But that owner is in the village on this, the
darkest evening of the year—so would any sensible person be. That is where the division seems to
lie, between the village (or “society,” “civilization,” “duty,” “sensibility,” “responsibility”) and the
woods (that which is beyond the borders of the village and all it represents). If the woods are not
particularly wicked, they still possess the seed of the irrational; and they are, at night, dark—with all
the varied connotations of darkness.
Part of what is irrational about the woods is their attraction. They are restful,
seductive, lovely, dark, and deep—like deep sleep, like oblivion. Snow falls in
downy flakes, like a blanket to lie under and be covered by. And here is where
many readers hear dark undertones to this lyric. To rest too long while snow falls
could be to lose one’s way, to lose the path, to freeze and die. Does this poem
express a death wish, considered and then discarded? Do the woods sing a
siren’s song? To be lulled to sleep could be truly dangerous. Is allowing oneself
to be lulled akin to giving up the struggle of prudence and self-preservation? Or
does the poem merely describe the temptation to sit and watch beauty while
responsibilities are forgotten—to succumb to a mood for a while?
The woods sit on the edge of civilization; one way or another, they draw the speaker
away from it (and its promises, its good sense). “Society” would condemn stopping here
in the dark, in the snow—it is ill advised. The speaker ascribes society’s reproach to the
horse, which may seem, at first, a bit odd. But the horse is a domesticated part of the
civilized order of things; it is the nearest thing to society’s agent at this place and time.
And having the horse reprove the speaker (even if only in the speaker’s imagination)
helps highlight several uniquely human features of the speaker’s dilemma. One is the
regard for beauty (often flying in the face of practical concern or the survival instinct);
another is the attraction to danger, the unknown, the dark mystery; and the
third—perhaps related but distinct—is the possibility of the death wish, of suicide.
Not that we must return too often to that darkest interpretation of the
poem. Beauty alone is a sufficient siren; a sufficient protection against
her seduction is an unwillingness to give up on society despite the
responsibilities it imposes. The line “And miles to go before I sleep”
need not imply burden alone; perhaps the ride home will be lovely, too.
Indeed, the line could be read as referring to Frost’s career as a poet,
and at this time he had plenty of good poems left in him.