Sometimes, when I don't get any sleep from staying up with an adorable and helpless baby, I recite this poem to myself. It's been one of my favorites since I learned it in high school at Cross Country running camp, from an English teacher coach. It applies to so many life scenarios, and contains such familiar imagery. Amazing that Frost wrote it in minutes after spending a long winter's night toiling over another (much less remembered) poem.
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, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”