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.
if the data has not been changed, no new rows will appear.
Day | Followers | Gain | % Gain |
---|---|---|---|
January 15, 2024 | 9 | 0 | 0.0% |
July 03, 2022 | 9 | -1 | -10.0% |
April 19, 2022 | 10 | +5 | +100.0% |