Browse Category: Poetry

Stopping by Winter Woods

Photo by Blair Davis, 2017

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.

–Robert Frost

I went to a holiday choir concert yesterday, and one of the pieces sung was “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost. I hadn’t realized there was a melody someone had written for this classic poem. It was lovely and also melancholy.

In researching some of the possible symbolism of the poem, I found a lot of theories, many based in psychology and mythology. One was regarding what winter represents. It’s a time of year when the days are colder and shorter, and (at least in many places) trees and plants have shed their leaves and gone dormant until spring or have died. It is a time of year for reflection, hibernation, and quiet. It can be a lonely and sad time of year for many. As a psychologist, I know many people (both in my clientele and in my personal life) who experience seasonal depression linked to the lack of daylight and limitations on outdoor activity in the late fall and winter. Some also find the holidays challenging if they are from families that don’t get along or are distant, if they have lost people close to them, or for many other reasons.

Winter also has some more joyful or hopeful associations, such as the fun of playing in the snow as a child, the wonder of a quiet and sparkly night after the snow has fallen, and the magic of holiday celebrations when the holidays are pleasant and meaningful. Stepping back to view the cycles of the year in a more holistic way can remind us that everything is impermanent, and although winter can be seen as bringing death, it can also be seen as bringing the preparation for new life: Winter can represent the pregnant pause between harvest and a lush spring, when things are getting ready to germinate and creativity is brewing.

“The dark wood” often represents the unconscious in Jungian or Freudian psychology. When a story involves going into a dark wood, this often means that the protagonist must face a challenge or learn a lesson before they can re-emerge into the light of everyday life. Perhaps Frost’s hero is reflecting on his life and finding the meaning and motivation to face what he must before he is ready to move forward. The fact that the horse “must think it queer” may allude to the protagonist typically living a more pragmatic life, not pausing to introspect very often, but simply doing what he must and avoiding going deep into his emotional, spiritual, psychological life. If the horse represents work and duty, self-reflection may seem a luxury that cannot be entertained often.

A darker meaning to Frost’s poem is that the narrator is tired of living and is contemplating suicide–the dark and quiet woods may represent a fantasy of his going to sleep forever and leaving the struggles of his life behind. What keeps him going is the realization that he has obligations in his life that he must honor; the time for death is not now.

Examining these potential meanings of the poem made me think that it was not necessarily a sunny and joyous choice to include this as a song in a holiday concert. But on the other hand, the holidays can be a time to contemplate what is meaningful to us and to sit with our whole range of thoughts and feelings.

Tis a Fearful Thing


by Yehuda Halevi (1075–1141)

‘Tis a fearful thing
to love what death can touch.
A fearful thing
to love, to hope, to dream, to be–
to be,
And oh, to lose.
A thing for fools, this,
And a holy thing,
a holy thing
to love.
For your life has lived in me,
your laugh once lifted me,
your word was gift to me.
To remember this brings painful joy.
‘Tis a human thing, love,
a holy thing, to love
what death has touched.

In memory of my mother, Martha “Penny” Davis, born September 1940 and died September 2020.