Maccavity, maccavity, there's no cat like maccavity. He's broken every human law - he broke the law of gravity.
     

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. And I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go, before I sleep.