No Trumps. Foxall Remix

Whose woods are these? I think I know. His house is in the village though. You will not see me stopping here to watch His woods fill up with snow. Between the woods and frozen lake. The darkest evening of the year. The only other sound's the sweep of an 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.