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.

You can't get too much winter in the winter.

Lovers, forget your love And list to the love of these She a window flower And he a winter breeze ...

When now, unsparing as the scourge of war, Blasts follow blasts and groves dismantled roar; Around their home the storm-pinched cattle lows, No nourishment in frozen pasture grows; Yet frozen pastures every morn resound With fair abundance thund'ring to the ground.

My apple trees will never get across And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. He only says, "Good fences make good neighbors."

The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day When the sun is out and the wind is still, You're one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, A cloud comes over the sunlit arch, A wind comes off a frozen peak, And you're two months back in the middle of March.