Snow falling and night falling fast,

oh, fast In a field I looked into going past,

And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,

But a few weeds and stubble showing last.

The woods around it have it—it is theirs.

All animals are smothered in their lairs.

I am too absent-spirited to count;

The loneliness includes me unawares.

And lonely as it is, that loneliness

Will be more lonely ere it will be less—

A blanker whiteness of benighted snow With no expression,

nothing to express. They cannot scare me with their empty spaces Between stars

—on stars where no human race is.

I have it in me so much nearer home

To scare myself with my own desert places.

by Robert Frost