Whose woods these are I think I know.His house is in the village, though;He will not see me stopping hereTo watch his woods fill up with snow.My little horse must
Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life
Read the following extracts and answer the questions. Six humans trapped by happenstance in a dark and bitter cold. Each possessed a stick of wood, Or so the story’s told.