Frost called it his "best bid for remembrance". The morning he wrote it, he'd been up all night working on a separate poem entirely, something he'd never done before. It wasn't until the dawn hours when he was outside watching a June sunrise that he was hit with such a massive idea that he ran back inside to compose "Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening" without lifting his pen from the page.
He claimed it had been like a hallucination.
I think it was something else.
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"