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No sleep till Brooklyn
No sleep till Brooklyn 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 must think it<b> queer </font></b>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. |
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7/31/2018 6:38 pm |
Magika
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7/31/2018 6:55 pm |
Robert Frost
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7/31/2018 7:52 pm |
Nice
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