De quién son estos bosques creo saber.
Su casa está en el pueblo, sin embargo;
No me verá pararme aquí
A ver cómo sus tierras se llenan de nieve.
Mi pequeño caballo debe pensar que es raro
Detenerse sin una granja en vista,
Entre el bosque y el lago congelado,
En la noche más oscura del año.
Sacude brevemente las campanas de su arnés,
Inquiriendo si no hay algún error.
El único otro ruido es el barrer
Del viento ligero y los suaves copos.
Es un hermoso bosque, oscuro y hondo.
Pero tengo promesas que cumplir,
Y mucho que andar antes de dormir,
Y mucho que andar antes de dormir.
Traducción de Martín Monreal
*
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.
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.
