Whose woods these are I do not know.
I wish he was here to help me, though;
He will not see me wand'ring here
To curse his woods fill up with snow.
My chosen course was wrong, I fear
Blizzard blows with no house near
Between these woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
My body numb and feels no ache
This shortcut home was some mistake.
My lonely shouts the storm does reap
In roaring wind and heavy flake.
This snowdrift's lovely, soft, and deep
And I pray the Lord my soul to keep
For right here I shall sleep,
Forever here I shall sleep.
Actually, I think Frost should have apologised to you for acheiving lesser in the task in which you have succeeded with such brilliance. Hugs! t x
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I'm not certain Frost was interested in capturing the same moment. The two are discreet, and while one captures the loneliness of a moment on winter solstice, this poem seems to capture the moment of acceptance of death on a much more metaphorical solstice.