В осеннем лесу, в гостях у безлюдья
предстал предо мною выбор судьбы,
Сквозь толщу листвы пожелтевшей и прутья
Вели две тропы
Была бы одна. Стою на распутье
терзаясь, я в каждую мыслями врос,
Нехожены обе, сулят мне по сути
Неясный прогноз
Одну я, на случай, оставил назавтра:
"быть может вернусь и представится шанс
узнать, что за ней ожидает, когда-то".
Последовал шаг
Я выбрал тропу, что казалась мне лучшей,
И путь до конца своих дней завершил,
Иною пройти не представится случай,
Однажды я жил.
11.12.21.
Оригинал:
The Road Not Taken
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.