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