诗始于有感而发，乃至不得不发又是自然而然毫无勉强做作之感地自然流露。诗人是能够抚今思昔油然感慨生活的人，李白如果碰见佛洛斯特，只要需一句“行路难，多歧路，今安在？”就能让后者满脑子感触，惺惺相惜相见恨晚。勤于思索人生的人都是诗歌惺惺相惜的伙伴。诗歌的创作和阅读感受大都源自这种油然涌起的意图。＂如果还需要其它条件，我觉得那就是诗人对爱、社会、故乡、家国和文学的向往：
“只是我承诺在先， 歇息前还有路程要赶”
这样在英语世界人人喜爱的诗句就如中文里面的“举头望明月，低头思故乡”、“谁知盘中餐，粒粒皆辛苦。”
忠 诚
罗伯特.佛洛斯特
翻译 汤安
有哪一种虔诚
Devotion
在下面这首《Dust Of Snow》里面，一只铁衫树上的寒鸦顽皮地荡下雪末，让树下走投无路身心疲惫痛苦忧思的诗人精神为之一振，荡散了满布心中的愁云。诗人当时经济破产，儿子夭折，生活中充满失望 悲伤，游荡在美国新罕布什尔酷寒的隆冬山林中，苦苦思索着何去何从。一只精灵古怪的寒鸦从树顶荡下雪末给了诗人一个激灵，他写下这首小诗，决定举家迁往英国从头再来。多年后的１９２０年１２月，已经成为伦敦英美文学中间力量的佛洛斯特发表了这首《雪末》，作品收录于作者后来的＂新罕布什尔诗集＂（１９２３）之中。
Dust of Snow
雪 末
Robert Frost
汤安 译
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
寒鸦
铁杉
荡飞雪
飘洒
心头
愁云偈
未 选 择 的 路
罗伯特.佛洛斯特
翻译汤安
秋天的山林里分岔着两条路
我不能将它们一齐走过
伫立路口，默默眺望——
一条路平直远去
直到融进视野尽头
我倾心于另一条路：
它荒草萋萋
楚楚落寂
二者似乎又没有不同
在那个清晨，黄叶遍地
两条路一样清新无履
舍下一条路，迈出脚步
我知道此去无期
再不能回首，兼顾两处
多少年以后，在某个地方
我也许轻叹着将往事回想：
那金色山林里分岔的路
我踏上一条，少有人迹
此后一切，是那么不同
The Road Not Taken
Robert Forst
Mountain Interval. 1920.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
雪 夜 林 中 停 歇
罗伯特.佛洛斯特
翻译汤安
我大致清楚这是谁的林地
他住在林边村里
不知我此刻停步
伫望这雪中林木
座下的小马迷惑不解：
为何停靠这冰湖林地
在四下无人
一年里最漆黑的夜里
它晃动脖下的铃铛
为我提醒
此外的唯一声音
是沙沙落雪
这林雪如此可爱
还有幽静黑夜
只是我承诺在先
歇息前还有路程要赶
歇息前还有路程要赶
Stopping by Woods on a snowy Evening
Robert Forst
Shafts-bury, Vermont.1922.
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 promise to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
