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			 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. I know what the fucl< this means. We are are dichotomized busy bees when we dream.  | 
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