A few words on “Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening," by Robert Frost, and its Italian version, by Literary Joint

 

1st edition (publ. Henry Holt, 1923)

Together with the poet, we may wonder whom those woods belong to, other than a known local landowner. The dark and profound realm of the woods beckons from afar, in the peaceful quietness of a snowy  evening, and a premonition of the perfect sleep falls upon the traveler, as he recoils back. The trip is still far from over, and all sorts of social obligations pull back towards the reality of life; yet the sleep, a sweet sleep, will come someday, and the notion of it is a companion of all our journeys.  

We present below an Italian translation of “Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening," by Robert Frost, as well as its original text in English,  from the collection "New Hampshire", published in 1923.

Fermandosi nei pressi dei boschi in una sera di neve

Di chi siano questi boschi credo lo so
La sua casa è al villaggio, però;
Egli non mi vedrà fermarmi qua
A guardare i suoi boschi riempirsi di neve.

Il mio cavalluccio dovrà trovare strano
Fermarsi da ogni fattoria fuori mano
Tra i boschi e il lago gelato
La sera più buia dell'anno.

Questi fa scuoter i campanelli delle briglie
A chiedermi se non ci sia qualche sbaglio.
L'unico altro suono è lo spazzare
Di vento facile e piumosi fiocchi.

I boschi sono magnifici, fondi e neri,
Ma ho promesse da mantenere,
E miglia da percorrere prima di dormire,
E miglia da percorrere prima di dormire.

Robert Frost, dalla raccolta "New Hampshire", 1923. Traduzione in italiano a cura di LiteraryJoint.

Original English Text:

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

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 promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

by Robert Frost, from the collection "New Hampshire", 1923