"The Darkest Evening of the Year..."

Whenever the first day of Winter rolls around, I always get that poem from Robert Frost stuck in my head.  For years, I figured the title had to be something profound, but then I learned it's simply "Stopping By  Woods on a Snowy Evening".  I heard a story once that Mr. Frost was once giving a talk and was asked a question by an audience member.  She said "Mr. Frost, what you say your poem is primarily about?  Is it about how people need to take more time and appreciate nature, or perhaps how life can sometimes distract us from what we truly desire?"  Mr. Frost looked at the woman and said "Whose woods these are, I think I know.  His house lies in the village though..." and proceeded to reread the entire poem.  When he was done, another audience member piped in: "Yes yes, we know the poem, but what does the horse symbolize?  Could he be a part of our consciousness that's afraid of change?"  Again, Frost looked at the man and repeated his poem.  This went on for several more questions, but it was clear Robert Frost had only one answer: the poem itself.

I'm not sure if this story is true (I have no reason to believe it isn't, but I heard it well after the fact) but I think it's a nice representation of what poetry really is.  Many people like to focus on "what does this mean?" or "I don't understand the hidden message"...but that's not really the point.  The poem simply is. The author may have had intentions, but when complete, the poem is not just a puzzle, it's an entity all its own.  Take from it what you will.

For those who have never read the poem, take a look below.  It's simple, easy to read, and perhaps a bit transparent...but it holds up well in any time period.

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.