Frasi di Robert Lee Frost

pagina 6

“Due strade trovai nel bosco e io, | io scelsi quella meno battuta. | Ed è per questo che sono diverso.”

“La felicità compensa in altezza ciò che le manca in lunghezza.”

“Perché abbandonare una credenza solo perché cessa di essere vera? Aggrappatevi ad essa abbastanza a lungo e… sarà vera ancora una volta, perché così vanno le cose. La maggior parte dei cambiamenti che pensiamo di vedere nella vita sono dovuti a verità che entrano ed escono dal nostro favore.”

“I Boschi sono amabili ombrosi e profondi.
Ma ho promesse da mantenere,
e miglia da percorrere prima di riposare,
e miglia da percorrere prima di riposare.”

“Il cielo offre i suoi scorci solo a coloro che non sono in una posizione da poterlo guardare troppo da vicino.”

“La poesia inizia in delizia e finisce in saggezza.”

“Accumulare sapienza è male quanto accumulare denaro. Una volta o l'altra bisogna cominciare a far partecipi gli altri di ciò che si sa.”

“Buone recinzioni fanno buoni vicini.”

“Il modo migliore per venirne fuori è sempre buttarsi dentro.”

“La poesia è un modo di prendere la vita alla gola.”

“La tua casa è quel posto dove, se ci devi andare, sono costretti a farti entrare.”

“Quand'ero giovane erano i vecchi i miei maestri. | […] Andavo a scuola dai vecchi per imparare il passato. || Ora che sono vecchio ho per maestri i giovani. | Quel che non può modellarsi dev'essere infranto o piegato. | Lezioni mi torturano che riaprono antiche suture. | Vado a scuola dai giovani per imparare il futuro.”

“Tu ti puoi spingere | indietro per un ruscello di luce | al cielo. | E indietro nella storia sul corso | del tempo. | E questa rapidità ti fu data | non per affrettarti | né soprattutto per | andartene | dove vuoi. | Ma perché nella smania di spandersi | del tutto | a te spetti invece il potere di | fermarti.”

“Di chi sono questi boschi, penso di sapere.”

“One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.”

“The rain to the wind said,
'You push and I'll pelt.'
They so smote the garden bed.
That the flowers actually knelt,
And lay lodged -- though not dead.
I know how the flowers felt.”

“A poem is never a put-up job, so to speak. It begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It is never a thought to begin with.”

“Possessing what we still were unpossessed by,
Possessed by what we now no more possessed.”

“To be social is to be forgiving.”

“It must be the brook
Can trust itself to go by contraries
The way I can with you — and you with me —
Because we’re — we’re — I don’t know
What we are.”

“All the dust the wind blew high
Appeared like god in the sunset sky,
But I was one of the children told
Some of the dust was really gold.”

“The land may vary more;
But wherever the truth may be —
The water comes ashore,
And the people look at the sea.”

“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.”

“And this is no aristocratic joke
At the expense of negligible folk.
We see how seriously the races swarm
In their attempts at sovereignty and form.
They are our wards we think to some extent
For the time being and with their consent,
To teach them how Democracy is meant.”

“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.”

“By good rights I ought not to have so much
Put on me, but there seems no other way.
Len says one steady pull more ought to do it.
He says the best way out is always through.
And I agree to that, or in so far
As that I can see no way out but through —
Leastways for me — and then they’ll be convinced.”

“Wind goes from farm to farm in wave on wave,
But carries no cry of what is hoped to be.
There may be little or much beyond the grave,
But the strong are saying nothing until they see.”

“Summoning artists to participate
In the august occasions of the state
Seems something artists ought to celebrate.
Today is for my cause a day of days.”

“We've looked and looked, but after all where are we?
Do we know any better where we are,
And how it stands between the night tonight
And a man with a smoky lantern chimney?
How different from the way it ever stood?”

“Something inspires the only cow of late
To make no more of a wall than an open gate,
And think no more of wall-builders than fools.”

“'I can repeat the very words you were saying:
"Three foggy mornings and one rainy day
Will rot the best birch fence a man can build."
Think of it, talk like that at such a time!
What had how long it takes a birch to rot
To do with what was in the darkened parlor?
You couldn't care! The nearest friends can go
With anyone to death, comes so far short
They might as well not try to go at all.”

“Twas Age imposed on poems
Their gather-roses burden
To warn against the danger
That overtaken lovers
From being overflooded
With happiness should have it
And yet not know they have it.”

“My words are nearly always an offense.
I don't know how to speak of anything
So as to please you. But I might be taught,
I should suppose. I can't say I see how.”

“The land was ours before we were the land's.
She was our land more than a hundred years
Before we were her people.”

“It is the future that creates his present.
All is an interminable chain of longing.”

“I’m going out to clean the pasture spring;
I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I sha’n’t be gone long.”

“She drew back; he was calm
"It is this that had the power,"
And he lashed his open palm
With the tender-headed flower.”

“He said twice over before he knew himself:
"Can't a man speak of his own child he's lost?""Not you!'—'Oh, where's my hat? Oh, I don't need it!
I must get out of here. I must get air.'—
I don't know rightly whether any man can."”

“How often already you've had to be told,
Keep cold, young orchard. Good-bye and keep cold.
Dread fifty above more than fifty below.
I have to be gone for a season or so.”

“Such as we were we gave ourselves outright
(The deed of gift was many deeds of war)
To the land vaguely realizing westward,
But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced,
Such as she was, such as she would become.”

“I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.”

“Let me be the one
To do what is done.”

“The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.”