Из Роберта Фроста. На распутье

Я шёл. За лесом солнце золотилось.
Тропинка под ногами раздвоилась.
Мой ум попал в засаду в той дубраве.
Куда идти - налево иль направо?

Логично рассуждая, я решил,
любое направленье - трата сил.
Стоять бездумно долго я не мог
и по одной пошёл из двух дорог.

Сегодня, вспоминая прошлый путь,
мне кажется, что можно всё вернуть.
Намеренно пройдя другой тропой,
останусь всё равно самим собой.

*******
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.