By Robert Frost

罗伯特·弗罗斯特(美国) 

Spades take up leaves

No better than spoons,

And bags full of leaves

Are light as balloons.

I make a great noise

Of rustling all day

Like rabbit and deer

Running away.

But the mountains I raise

Elude my embrace,

Flowing over my arms

And into my face.

I may load and unload

Again and again

Till I fill the whole shed,

And what have I then?

Next to nothing for weight,

And since they grew duller

From contact with earth,

Next to nothing for color.

Next to nothing for use.

But a crop is a crop,

And who's to say where

The harvest shall stop?

收集落叶

用铁锹收集落叶

不比用调羹顺手，

装满落叶的口袋，

轻得就像是气球。

我整天忙着弄出

沙沙响的嘈杂声，

像小兔也像小鹿

奔逃在丛林之中。

我捧起一座小山，

却无法把它抱拢，

总流出我的臂弯，

总泻向我的面孔。

我可以装了又卸，

千遍、万遍重复，

直到填满了小屋，

可我又有了什么？

论分量聊胜于无，

由于接触过泥土，

一片片逐渐发乌，

论颜色聊胜于无。

论用处聊胜于无，

而收获总是收获，

又有谁能对我说，

收获该止于何处。