Comment 247 of 247, added on May 8th, 2008 at 7:33 AM.

Hi! I'm currently taking up Bachelor of Science in Nursing in a prestigious
school in the Philippines but we have this minor subject, english
literaures of the world.

This masterpiece poem of Frost simply states that the speaker or the writer
is in a dilemma because as stated in the poem, he said that the owner of
this village wont see him if he will just stay for a while because he was
tempted to stay here but a long journey awaits him. The speaker is bemused
if he's gonna stay or not because he has a promise to be kept and that is
to return in reality, the world of man, the civilization and this nature
represents a wish to die because its lovely, dark, and deep.

Jairus from Philippines

Comment 245 of 247, added on March 24th, 2008 at 12:43 AM.

I have always felt this poem was a metaphor for suicide. Rather than
meaning to inspire it seems the main character has resigned himself to
living to meet his obligations. Beautiful and sad.

Roe from United States

Comment 243 of 247, added on March 7th, 2008 at 4:05 AM.

im 13 studing this poem in school for all u people thank u very much and
im sure all your comments will help me in my examination

i find the poem unique as well as true in heart
it is how this man suffers and finally dies in peace

and oh yah im Indian stayin in the United Arab Emirates

Jules from United Arab Emirates

Comment 241 of 247, added on February 20th, 2008 at 9:51 PM.

FEEDING BY WOODS ON A WINTRY EVENING

Was beautiful out feeding tonight. There was a snow squall that dropped
about half an inch in 5-10 minutes. Covered the cattle, the calves, the
corral, the countryside, and my coat. Then the clouds scattered and raced
each other across the sky. They caused a natural strobe-light effect
alternately illuminating and hiding the livestock, the snowcovered fields,
woods and branches, as they passed in front of the nearing-full-moon. I
leaned against a round bale and listened to the concert of a dozen
contented cows agresssively munching hay. They were accompanied by the
faint humming of a far-off airplane and the soft, low, bass-drumming of the
natural gas compressor engines at the McWhorter and the Lightburn Stations,
a few miles distant. The four new calves, with bellies full of warm milk,
danced through the hay I had spread along the fence, limboed under the
'lectric fence into the lane, then do-sah-doed among the round bales stored
under the hemlock tree. The huge ancient double-trunked hemlock that had
sheltered multiple generations and species of birds, livestock, wildlife,
and my ancestors just as it sheltered me and the calves now by bowing its
boughs under a burden of snow like a hen bowing her wings to shelter a
cluster of chicks.

No sirens, no horns, no stereos blasting as there were no cars on the
roads. No dirt bikes, weedeaters, lawnmowers nor chainsaws. A soothing
sound far different than a live band at a local gig who think music must be
loud to be good. They turn the volume up so much that you can’t hear the
music or the words. No drunks yelling obscenities. Not a human voice to
be heard. I didn't want to go back in just to face the eleven o’clock news.


I thought of Robert Frost who said, in Stopping by Woods on a Winter
Evening, “But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and
miles to go before I sleep.” I thought of the travelers in that far off
airplane and the miles they had made the commitment to go, to go to keep
the various promises they had made. They chose freely to go but were now
prisoners in that plane; prisoners self-sentenced to their cell for the
duration of the flight to their destination with no escape but through
their thoughts and the comforts within the confines of the cabin. If they
only knew what I had they might want to trade. Perhaps they were asleep
already. I thought of those who failed to keep their promises because
their journeys came to an untimely end.

Frost considered the owner of the wood and if he would object to him
stopping there. These woods and cows and meadow and moment are mine and no
one sees me here or knows where I am. Not even one of the many millions in
this world. Its just as well for they might think something wrong to see a
man, outstanding in his field, in such weather.

Nor is anyone here with whom to share it. It seems so selfish to have it
all to myself but were there a crowd it would not be the same. The essence
of solitude cannot be shared. To share even a smidgen of it, I must write
it, edit it, and refine it, let it grow cold and re-visit it. Simply
telling it would not suffice. I just stood and listened and watched until
the melting snow chilled my shoulders and told me it was time to go in.
Time to go in and enjoy the fireside and peck out a momento of the occasion
for future enlightment, and to reflect on what I had experienced. And time
to get a good nights sleep to be rested for the challenges of the miles to
go and promises to be kept tomorrow. I know the respite and rejuvenenation
Frost enjoyed stopping by the wood that evening. The respite and
rejuvenation we all surely need from time to time as we, as did he, face
our immediate responsibilities as well as the miles to go and promises to
be kept on all of the tomorrows before we sleep that final sleep to which
Frost must have been alluding when he repeated the last stanza, “and miles
to go before I sleep.”
Tarryleas
2-18-08


TerryWashburn from United States

Comment 239 of 247, added on February 5th, 2008 at 6:23 AM.

i just love this poem 'cos it is extensively inspirational. whenever i m
tired with the odds of life or whenever i feel that my vision is diverting
from my dreams, i just read last lines of the poem and it can easily
revitalize me to go back onto the track and work hard for achieving the
goals.because there are lots of dreams of mine to be fulfilled before my
life gets over .....

stuti from India