Not "the snow is"... It is the "woods are"... But thinking of a moonlight snow night, I think, I was not that wrong. I was born in a snow country, I know the snow can be dark.
But to say it all:
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.
Now, Alexander Pushkine:
Вечор, ты помнишь, вьюга злилась,
На мутном небе мгла носилась;
Луна, как бледное пятно,
Сквозь тучи мрачные желтела,
И ты печальная сидела.
А нынче… Погляди в окно:
those were the days my friend...
. Everytime I try, I mess all. My PC was full of my coding salads, so I simply delet it all and quit for now.
Linear Mode
