Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

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 love this poem. To me it is so musical. It rhymes effortlessy (although the second line looks a bit contrived) and the rhythm of the metre (iambic tetrameter) makes it ideal for reading in a kind of sing-song, perhaps Welsh, accent. Richard Burton or Anthony Hopkins would be perfect readers for this. The sussurations of the lines -
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake
- clearly echo the wind and soft fall of snow through branches. What, we wonder, is he imagining that lies in the wood, what temptations does he turn from? The woods are lovely, dark and deep. This is such a sensual line, perhaps hinting at physical passion. But he must be faithful and press on, he has promises to keep. The repetition of the last two lines seems to speak of a terrible resignation. There is a clear echo of these feelings in The Road Not Taken. Perhaps he speaks to all our mid-life crises, or is that just me.