Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening (雪夜林边小驻)
罗伯特·弗洛斯特
Whose woods I think I know,
His house is in the village though,
He will not see me stooping 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 others sound’s the sweep,
Of easy winds 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.