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Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

 

Whose woods there 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.

 

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 ·Î¹öÆ® ÇÁ·Î½ºÆ®´Â ¼Ò¹ÚÇÑ ³ó¹Î°ú ÀÚ¿¬À» ³ë·¡ÇÔÀ¸·Î½á Çö´ë ¹Ì±¹ ½ÃÀÎ Áß¿¡¼­ °¡Àå ¼ø¼öÇÑ °íÀüÀû ½ÃÀÎÀ¸·Î ¼Õ²ÅÈù´Ù. ¿µ±¹¿¡¼­ ¹ßÇ¥ÇÑ ÃÖÃÊÀÇ ¼­Á¤½ÃÁý ¡¶¼Ò³âÀÇ ÀÇÁö A Boy's Will¡·(1913)´Â Ç ·ÕÆç·Î(Henry Longfellow)ÀÇ ¡¶ÀÒ¾î¹ö¸° ûÃá My Lost Youth¡·ÀÇ ÇÑ ±¸Àý¿¡¼­ Á¦¸ñÀ» µû¿Â °ÍÀ̶ó°í ÇÑ´Ù.

 ÀÌ ½ÃÁý ÀÌÈÄ ±ØÀûÀÎ ´ëÈ­½ÃÁý ¡¶º¸½ºÅÏÀÇ ºÏÂÊ North of Boston¡·(1914)À» Ãâ°£ÇÔÀ¸·Î½á ½ÃÀÎÀ¸·Î¼­ ÀÛ°¡Àû ¿ª·®À» ÀÎÁ¤¹Þ¾Ò´Ù. ¿¹¸®ÇÑ °üÂûÀ» ÅëÇÑ ´Ü¼øÇÑ ¾îÈÖ, ¼Ò¹ÚÇÑ ¼­Á¤°ú ÀλóÀûÀΠǥÇö µîÀ¸·Î ¿µ±¹¹®´Ü¿¡¼­ ÁÖ¸ñ¹Þ¾Ò´Ù.
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   ÇÁ·Î½ºÆ®ÀÇ ½Ã´Â, ¹®ÇÐ ÀÛǰÀÌ ´ë°³ ±×·¸µíÀÌ, Àλý»ìÀÌ¿Í ¼¼»ó ÀÏ¿¡ °üÇÑ ³íÀÇÀÇ °úÁ¤ ¹× ±× °á°úÀÎ ¾î¶² ÀáÁ¤Àû °á¸»À» º¸¿©ÁØ´Ù. ±×´Â ¾î¶² °á¸»(»ýÀÇ ÀÌÇØ)¿¡ À̸£±â À§ÇØ ´ëȭü·Î ¶Ç´Â µ¶¹éü·Î ¾ê±â¸¦ ÁøÇà½ÃŰ¸é¼­ µ¶ÀÚÀÇ Á¤¼­¿Í Á¤½ÅÀ» ±× ÁøÇà°ú ÇÔ²² °íÁ¶½Ã۸ç, ±×ÀÇ ½ÃÀû ´ë»óÀÎ ´«, ³ª¹«, µ¿¹°, º°, ½Ã°ñ »ç¶÷ÀÇ ±âºÐ µî¿¡ ´ëÇÑ ¶§¶§·Î ÆÜ ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿î »ç½ÇÀû ¹¦»çµµ ±×·± ÁøÇà °úÁ¤¿¡¼­ °á¸»À» °¡¸®Å°´Â È­»ìÇ¥°¡ µÈ´Ù.

   ÇÁ·Î½ºÆ®´Â ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ ½ÃÀÛ °úÁ¤¿¡ °üÇÑ ±Û¿¡¼­ ´ÙÀ½°ú °°ÀÌ ¸»Çϰí Àִµ¥, À̰ÍÀº ±×ÀÇ ½Ã°¡ ¾î¶»°Ô ¸¸µé¾îÁö´Â°¡ Çϴµ¥ ´ëÇÑ ¾ê±âÀÏ »Ó¸¸ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó, ½Ã´Â ¸¶¶¥È÷ ÀÌ·¸°Ô ¸¸µé¾îÁ®¾ß ÇÑ´Ù´Â ÁÖÀåÀ̱⵵ Çϸç, ±×ÀÇ ½Ã¸¦ ÀÌÇØÇϴµ¥ µµ¿òÀÌ µÇ´Â ¸»À̱⵵ ÇÏ´Ù.

......½Ã´Â ±â»Ý¿¡¼­ ½ÃÀÛÇØ¼­ ÁöÇý·Î ³¡³­´Ù. »ç¶ûÀÌ ±×·± °Í°ú ¸¶Âù°¡ÁöÀÌ´Ù. ¾Æ¹«µµ Èñ¿­Àº Á¤ÀûÀ̾î¾ß Çϸç ÇÑÀÚ¸®¿¡ ¸Ó¹°·¯ ÀÖ¾î¾ß ÇÑ´Ù°í ÁÖÀåÇÒ ¼ö ¾ø´Ù. ½Ã´Â ±â»Ý¿¡¼­ ½ÃÀÛÇϰí, Ãæµ¿¿¡ ½ò¸®°í, ù ½ÃÇàÀ» ¾¸À¸·Î¼­ ¹æÇâÀ» Àâ°í, ´ÙÇàÇÑ ¼º°ú³ª °á°ú¸¦ ³»¸é¼­ ÁøÇàµÇ´Ù°¡ »ýÀÇ ÇØ¸í(clarification)À¸·Î ³¡³­´Ù -- ±×·¸´Ù°í ¹Ýµå½Ã ´ë´ÜÇÑ ÇØ¸íÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó È¥¶õ°ú ¸Â¼± ÀáÁ¤Àû ¸Ó¹«¸§¿¡¼­ ³¡³ª´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ½Ã´Â ´ë´Ü¿ø ȤÀº °á¸»À» °¡Áö°í ÀÖ´Ù. ºñ·Ï ¹Ì¸® ¾Ë ¼ö´Â ¾øÁö¸¸ ¿øÃÊÀû ±âºÐÀÇ Ã¹ À̹ÌÁö·ÎºÎÅÍ ÀÌ¹Ì ¿¹Á¤µÈ -- ±×¸®°í ¹Ù·Î ±× ±âºÐ ÀÚü·ÎºÎÅÍ ¿¹Á¤µÈ °á¸»À» °®°í ÀÖ´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. óÀ½ÀÇ ¹ß»óÀÌ ³ªÁß±îÁö ±×´ë·Î ³²¾Æ ÀÖ´Â ½Ã´Â ¼ÓÀÓ¼ö¿¡ ºÒ°úÇÏ¸ç µû¶ó¼­ ÀüÇô ½Ã¶ó°í ÇÒ ¼ö ¾ø´Ù. ½Ã´Â ÁøÇàµÇ¸é¼­ ±×°Í ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ À̸§À» ¹ß°ßÇÏ¸ç ¸¶Áö¸· ½Ã±¸¿¡¼­ ÃÖ¼±ÀÇ °ÍÀ» ¹ß°ßÇϴµ¥, ±×°ÍÀº ÁöÇý·Î¿î µ¿½Ã¿¡ ½½Ç ¾î¶² °Í -- ¼úÀÚ¸®¿¡¼­ ÇÏ´Â ³ë·¡ÀÇ Çູ°ú ½½ÇÄÀÇ È¥ÇÕ(happy-sad blend)°ú °°Àº °ÍÀÌ´Ù.

      (Literary Criticism in America, New York, The Liberal Arts Press, 1957, 290ÂÊ)

   <È¥¶õ°ú ¸Â¼­ ÀÖ´Â ÀáÁ¤Àû °á¸»>À̶ó´Â ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ ½Ã¿¡ ´ëÇÑ ÇÁ·Î½ºÆ®ÀÇ ¸»Àº, ±×ÀÇ ¸¹Àº ½ÃÀÇ ÇÙ½ÉÀ» ½º½º·Î ¾ê±âÇÑ ¾ÆÁÖ Áß¿äÇÑ ¸»ÀÌ´Ù. ±×·¡¼­ ±×ÀÇ ½ÃµéÀº ´ë°³ ÆÇ´Ü º¸·ùÀÇ »óųª ´Ü¾ðÀ» ÁÖÀúÇÏ´Â »óÅ¿¡¼­ ³¡³ª¸ç, ÀڱⰡ µÎ °¡Áö »ý°¢À̳ª µÎ °¡Áö ´À³¦À» °¡Áö°í ÀÖÀ» ¶§, ±×´Â ±×°ÍµéÀ» ±×³É Á¦½ÃÇÒ »ÓÀÌ´Ù. ±×ÀÇ ½Ã°¡ ¾Ï½ÃÀûÀÎ ÀÌÀ¯µµ ±×·± µ¥ ÀÖ´Ù. ¡º»ç¶û°ú Àǹ®¡»,¡ºÇ®º£±â¡»,¡º°¡Áö ¾ÊÀº ±æ¡»,¡ºµÑÀÌ µÑÀ» º»´Ù¡»µîÀÌ ±×·± ¿¹¿¡ ¼ÓÇÑ´Ù. ¿¹ÄÁ´ë ¡º°¡Áö ¾ÊÀº ±æ¡»À» º¸ÀÚ.

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   ÀÌ·± ¾ê±â°¡ °ø°¨À» ÁÖ´Â ÀÌÀ¯´Â <¼±ÅÃ>°ú <¸Á¼³ÀÓ>À̶ó´Â Àλý»ìÀÌÀÇ Á¶°Ç ¦¡ ¿ì¸®°¡ ³ª³¯ÀÌ °Þ´Â ½É¸® »óŸ¦ µå·¯³»°í Àֱ⠶§¹®À̱⵵ ÇÑ °ÍÀÌ´Ù.

   ½Ã¿¡¼­ ¼Ò¸®º¸´Ù ÁÖÁ¦ÀÇ Á߿伺À» °­Á¶ÇÑ ±×ÀÇ ½Ã°¡ ½ÇÀº ÁÖÁ¦¸¦ µÚ¿¡ ¼û±â°í ÀÖ´Â µíÇÑ ´À³¦À» ÁÖ´Â ÀÌÀ¯´Â ´ëÈ­¿Í ³íÀÇÀÇ °úÁ¤ÀÌ ±æ°Ô À̾îÁö´Ù°¡ ¾î¶² °á¸»(¿¹ÀÇ ±× ÀáÁ¤ÀûÀÎ)¿¡ À̸£±â ¶§¹®À̸ç, ±×¸®°í ±×·± °úÁ¤¿¡¼­ ±×°¡ üÇèÇÑ »ç½ÇµéÀ» ÀÖ´Â ±×´ë·Î ¾ê±âÇϰí ÀÖÀ» »ÓÀ̱⠶§¹®ÀÌ´Ù.

   ±×¿¡°Ô´Â ¸®¾ó¸®½ºÆ®¶õ µüÁö°¡ ºÙ¾î ÀÖ´Ù. ¾ÆÁÖ Á¶½É½º·´°Ô ±×¸®°í õõÈ÷ ÁøÇàµÇ´Â ±×ÀÇ ½Ã´Â ±×°¡ ¸î ³â µ¿¾È ³ó»ç¸¦ ÁöÀº ¹Ù ÀÖ´Â ´º À×±Û·£µåÀÇ ½Ã°ñ¿¡ »Ñ¸®¹Ú°í Àִµ¥, C. µ¥ÀÌ ·çÀ̽º °°Àº »ç¶÷Àº ±×ÀÇ »ç½ÇÁÖÀÇÀû ¸é¸ð¸¦ ÁöÀû, <ÀÏÇÏ´Â ³óºÎ´Â ¾Æ¹«µµ ³¶¸¸ÀûÀÏ ¼ö ¾ø´Ù ¦¡ ÀÚ¿¬¿¡ °üÇØ¼­µµ ÀüÇô ³¶¸¸ÀûÀÏ ¼ö ¾ø´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù.>¶ó°í ¸»Çϴ°¡ ¹Ý¸é, W.H.¿ÀµçÀº <ÀÚ¿¬Àû ´ë»óµé¿¡ °üÇÑ ÇÁ·Î½ºÆ®ÀÇ ½ÃµéÀº ½ÅºñÀûÀÎ ¸í»óÀ̳ª ȯ»ó¿¡ ÃÊÁ¡ÀÌ ÀÖÁö ¾Ê°í »ý°è¸¦ À§ÇØ ³ª³¯ÀÌ ÀÏÇÏ´Â °úÁ¤¿¡ À־ÀÇ Àΰ£ÀÇ È°µ¿¿¡ ÃÊÁ¡À» µÎ°í ÀÖ´Ù>¶ó°í ±îÁö ¸»Çϰí ÀÖ´Ù.

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   ÇÁ·Î½ºÆ®¿¡°Ô¼­ ¿ì¸®°¡ ¶Ç º¼ ¼ö ÀÖ´Â °ÍÀº ³» °Í°ú ³²ÀÇ °ÍÀÇ ±¸È¹°ú ¼ÒÀ¯, ±×¸®°í ±×°Í°ú ¿¬°üµÈ ¿ø¸¸ÇÑ »çȸ »ýȰ¿¡ ´ëÇÑ °ü½ÉÀÌ´Ù. ´ëÇ¥ÀûÀÎ ¿¹·Î ¡º´ãÀå ¼ö¸®¡»¸¦ µé ¼ö Àִµ¥, ÀÌ¿ô°úÀÇ ÀÌÇØ °ü°è°¡ ±ÕÇü ÀÖ°Ô ÀÌ·ç¾îÁ®¼­ <ÁÁÀº ÀÌ¿ô>ÀÌ µÇ·Á¸é ´ãÀÌ ÀÖ´Â°Ô ÁÁÀ¸³Ä ¾ø´Â°Ô ÁÁÀ¸³Ä¿¡ ´ëÇØ ¾ê±âÇÑ´Ù. ÀÌ ½Ã¿¡¼­, <´ãÀ» ÁÁ¾ÆÇÏÁö ¾Ê´Â ¾î¶² °Í(Something that doesn't love a wall)>Àº ¾Æ¸¶µµ ÀÌ¿ô »çÀÌ¿¡ ´ãÀÌ ¾ø¾úÀ¸¸é ÇÏ°í ¹Ù¶ó´Â ½ÃÀÎÀÇ ¸¶À½À̶ó°í ÇØµµ ÁÁ°Ú°í, ±×·¡¼­ ´ã ½×´Â ÀÏÀ» <¾îµÒ ¼Ó¿¡¼­ÀÇ ¿òÁ÷ÀÓ>À̶ó°í ºÎÁ¤ÀûÀÎ Áø¼úÀ» Çϴµ¥, ±×·¯¸é¼­µµ ÀÌ ½Ã´Â ÀÌ¿ô »ç¶÷ÀÇ ¸» <´ãÀ» Àß ½×¾Æ¾ß ÁÁÀº ÀÌ¿ôÀÌ µÈ´Ù>´Â ¸»·Î ³¡¸Î°í ÀÖ´Ù. ´ãÀº ¿ì¸®ÀÇ »îÀÇ ÀνÀÀûÀÎ °æ°è°ú ±¸È¹, Àç»ê»óÀ¸·Î ¸»ÇÏÀÚ¸é ³×°Í ³»°ÍÀ» ±¸º°ÇÏ´Â ¼ÒÀ¯ °ü³ä, »çȸ »ýȰÀÇ ¾î¿ ¼ö ¾ø´Â ±¸Á¶°°Àº °ÍÀ» ¶æÇÑ´Ù°í º¼ ¼ö Àִµ¥, ÀÌ ½Ã´Â ´ã¿¡ ´ëÇØ ºÎÁ¤ÀûÀΠŵµ¸¦ ¸·¿¬ÇÏ°Ô ³ªÅ¸³»¸é¼­µµ µ¿½Ã¿¡ ±× ´ãÀÇ ±àÁ¤Àû ±â´Éµµ Æ÷±âÇϰųª ¹«½ÃÇÏÁö ¾Ê´Â °Íó·³ µé¸°´Ù. ¿ª½Ã ¿¹ÀÇ ±× ¾ç°¡¼º(å»Ê¤àõ)ÀÌ´Ù.

   ÀÌ·± ŵµ´Â ¡º°¡Á·ÀÇ ¸ÅÀå¡»¿¡¼­µµ ¿³º¼ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù. Á×Àº ¾ÆÀÌÀÇ ¸ÅÀåÀ» µÑ·¯½Î°í ºÎºÎ°¡ ½Î¿òÀ» ¹úÀ̴µ¥, ¿©ÀÚ°¡ ½Å°æÁúÀûÀ¸·Î ³²Æí¿¡°Ô ´ýº­µç´Ù. Á¦ ¾ÆÀÌÀÇ ¹«´ýÀ» ¾î¶»°Ô Á¦(³²Æí) ¼ÕÀ¸·Î ÆÈ ¼ö ÀÖÀ¸¸ç, ¾ÆÀ̸¦ ¹¯°í ¿Í¼­ ¸¶Ä¡ Á×Àº ¾ÆÀ̸¦ ±Ý¹æ ÀØ¾î ¹ö·È´Ù´Â µí ÀÏ»óÀûÀÎ À̾߱⸦ ¾Æ¹«·¸Áöµµ ¾Ê°Ô ÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖ´À³Ä´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ±×·¯³ª ¿ì¸®´Â ¿©ÀÚÀÇ ½Å°æÁúÀûÀÎ(¸ð¼º¾Ö¶ó°í ÇÒ±î) ¹Ý¹ß¿¡ ÀüÀûÀ¸·Î µ¿Á¶ÇÒ ¼ö ¸¸Àº ¾ø´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. »ý°¢Çϱ⿡ µû¶ó¼­´Â ³²ÆíÀÇ Çൿµµ ÀÌÇØÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖ°í °ø°¨ÇÒ ¼ö Àֱ⠶§¹®ÀÌ´Ù. ¾ÆÀÌÀÇ ¹«´ýÀ», ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ ¼ÕÀ¸·Î Èûµé°Ô ÆÇ ³²ÀÚÀÇ ¸»¾ø´Â ¸¶À½À» ¿ì¸®´Â ´Ü¼øÈ÷ ºñÁ¤ÇÏ´Ù°í¸¸ ¸»ÇÒ ¼ö´Â ¾øÀ¸¸ç, ¿ÀÈ÷·Á ±×·± ÇàÀ§°¡ ´õ ±íÀº ¾ÖÁ¤¿¡¼­ ³ª¿Â °ÍÀ̶ó°í º¼ ¼öµµ ÀÖ´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ÀÌ ³²ÀÚ°¡ ´ëü·Î ÂøÇϰí À̼ºÀûÀÌ¸ç ¸¶À½ÀÌ ¾àÇÏ´Ù´Â °Ç ±×°¡ ÇÏ´Â ¸»À̳ª ŵµ·Î ¹Ì·ç¾î ´ë°­ ÁüÀÛÇÒ ¼ö°¡ ÀÖ´Ù. ÀÚ½ÄÀÇ Á×À½¿¡ ´ëÇÑ ºÎºÎÀÇ À졧 »ó¹ÝµÈ µíÇÑ Åµµ¸¦ ±×¸° ÀÌ Àϸ·±ØÀº Àд »ç¶÷ ÀÚ½ÅÀÌ »ý°¢ÇÒ ¿©Áö¸¦ ³²°Ü ³õ°í ÀÖÀ» µû¸§ÀÌ´Ù. ¿ì¸®°¡ ´Ã °Þ´Â ÀÏ»óÀÇ ÇÑ ´Ü¸éÀ» ÇÁ·Î½ºÆ®´Â ÀÖ´Â ±×´ë·Î ¸»Çϰí ÀÖÀ» »ÓÀÌ´Ù.

   ¡º°¡Á·ÀÇ ¸ÅÀå¡»¿¡¼­ º¸µí ÇÁ·Î½ºÆ® ½ÃÀÇ ¶Ç ÇϳªÀÇ Æ¯Â¡Àº ±ØÀû(мîÜ)À̶ó´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ¾î¶² »ç¶÷ÀÌ ±×ÀÇ ½Ã¸¦ ³õ°í <½Ã°ñÀÇ ±ØÀå>À̶ó°í ÇßµíÀÌ ±×ÀÇ ½Ã¿¡´Â µå¶ó¸¶°¡ ÀÖ´Ù. ´ëÈ­¸¦ ÅëÇØ Àü°³µÇ´Â ½ÃÀÇ È帧°ú µîÀå Àι°µéÀÇ Çൿ¿¡ ´ëÇÑ ¹¦»ç´Â ¿ì¸®¿¡°Ô ´ë»ç¸¦ ¿Ü¿ì¸ç ¿¬±â¸¦ ÇÏ´Â ¿¬±Ø ¹«´ë¸¦ ¿¬»óÄÉ Çϱ⿡ ÃæºÐÇÏ´Ù. ¿¹ÄÁ´ë ºÎºÎ°¡ ½Î¿ì¸é¼­ ÇÏ´Â ¸»¿¡ ¿ì¸®´Â ±Í¸¦ ±â¿ïÀÌ°Ô µÇ¸ç ±× Àü°³ °úÁ¤¿¡ °ü½ÉÀ» ÁýÁßÇϸ鼭 ¾î¶»°Ô ³¡³¯ °ÍÀÎÁö¿¡ ´ëÇØ ±Ã±ÝÇÏ°Ô µÈ´Ù. ±×·¡¼­ ±×ÀÇ ±ä ½Ã¿¡¼­ ¿ì¸®´Â <À̾߱â>¸¦ ÀÐ°Ô µÈ´Ù. Áï ¾î¶² Ź¿ùÇϰųª ±â¹ßÇÑ À̹ÌÁö¿Í »ó»ó·Âº¸´Ù´Â »ç½ÇÀû üÇèÀ» ²Ù¹Ò¾øÀÌ ¾²´Â À̾߱â½Ã(´ã½Ã)°¡ ¿©·¯ ÆíÀÌ´Ù. ¹°·Ð ÀÌ ÀÛǰµµ ±×°¡ ½ÃÀÛ°úÁ¤¿¡ °üÇÑ ±Û¿¡¼­ ÇÑ ¸»°ú ÀÏÄ¡ÇÑ´Ù´Â Á¡¿¡¼­´Â ¿¹¿Ü°¡ ¾Æ´Ï´Ù. (Ãâó : ºÒ°ú ¾óÀ½. ·Î¹öÆ® ÇÁ·Î½ºÆ® ÁöÀ½, Á¤ÇöÁ¾ ¿Å±è / ¹ÎÀ½»ç)

À̿ϱٰú ÀÌÇÐÁØÀÇ Èñ¸ÁÀÇ ¹®ÇÐ ½ÉÈ­ ÀÚ·á

À̿ϱٰú ÀÌÇÐÁØÀÇ Èñ¸ÁÀÇ ¹®ÇÐ Mowing

 

There was never a sound beside the wood but one,

And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.

What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;

Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,

Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound ¦¡

And that was why it whispered and did not speak

It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,

Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:

Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak

To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,

Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers

(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.

The fact is the sweetest dream that labour knows

My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.

 

Ç® º£±â

 

½£ ¿·¿¡¼­´Â ÇÑ °¡Áö ¼Ò¸®¹Û¿¡ ¾Æ¹« ¼Ò¸®µµ ¾ø¾ú´Âµ¥,

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ÇѰ¡Çؼ­ ²ÞÀ» ²Ù°í ÀÖ¾ú´ø °Íµµ

¿äÁ¤ÇÑÅ× È¦·Á ÀÖ¾ú´ø °Íµµ ¾Æ´Ï´Ù.

½ÇÀº ¾î¿ ¼ö ¾ø´Â ¾ÖÂø¿¡ ¸ø À̰Ü

ÀÙ ³¡ÀÌ ¿¬ÇÑ ²Éµé(ÆÄ¶õ ³­ÃÊ)µµ ¾øÁö ¾ÊÀº

Ç® ¹«¼ºÇÑ ½ÀÁö¸¦ ¼ÕÁúÇϸ鼭

ºû³ª´Â ÃʷϹìÀ» ³î¶ó°Ô ÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù.

½ÇÀº ³ëµ¿ÀÌ ¾Ë°í ÀÖ´Â °¡Àå Á¦ÀÏ ±âºÐ ÁÁÀº ²ÞÀ»

³» ±ä ³´Àº ¼Ó»èÀ̸鼭 Ç®À» º£¾î ³õ°í ÀÖ¾ú´Ù.

 

Love And Question

 

A Stranger came to the door at eve,

And he spoke the bridegroom fair.

He bore a green-white stick in his hand,

And, for all burden, care.

He asked with the eyes more than the lips

For a shelter for the night.

And he turned and looked at the road afar

Without a window light.

 

The bridegroom came forth into the porch

With 'Let us look at the sky,

And question what of the night to be,

Stranger, you and I.'

The woodbine leaves littered the yard,

The woodbine berries were blue,

Autumn, yes, winter was in the wind;

'Stranger, I wish I knew.'

 

Within, the bride in the dusk alone

Bent over the open fire,

Her face rose-red with the glowing coal

And the thought of the heart's desire.

The bridegroom looked at the weary road,

Yet saw but her within,

And wished her heart in a case of gold.

And pinned with a silver pin.

 

The bridegroom thought it little to give

A dole of bread, a purse,

A heartfelt prayer for the poor of God,

Or for the rich a curse;

But whether or not a man was asked

To mar the love of two

By harbouring woe in the bridal house,

The bridegroom wished he knew.

 

»ç¶û°ú Àǹ®

 

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¸»º¸´Ù´Â ´«ÁþÀ¸·Î

ÇÏ·í¹ã Àç¿ö Áֱ⸦ ûÇϸ鼭 ±×´Â

µîºÒ Çϳª º¸ÀÌÁö ¾Ê´Â ¸Ó³ª¸Õ ±æÀ»

µ¹¾Æ´Ùº¸¾Ò´Ù.

 

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ÀºÇÉÀ¸·Î ²È¾Æ ³õ°í ½Í¾ú´Ù.

 

½Å¶ûÀº »§ Á¶°¢À̳ª µ· ÁÖ´Â °É

°ÅÀÇ »ý°¢ÇÏÁö ¾Ê¾Ò°í

°¡³­ÇÑ »ç¶÷À» À§ÇØ ÂüµÈ ±âµµ¸¦ ¿Ã¸°´Ù°Å³ª

ºÎÀÚ¸¦ ¿åÇÏ°í ½ÍÁöµµ ¾Ê¾Ò´Ù.

´ÜÁö ³ª±×³×¸¦ µéÀÓÀ¸·Î½á

°« È¥ÀÎÇÑ Áý¿¡ ½½ÇÄÀÌ µé¾î¿Í

µÎ »ç¶÷ÀÇ »ç¶ûÀ» ¸ÁÃÄ ³õÁö³ª ¾ÊÀ»´ÂÁö......

±×·± »ý°¢À» ½Å¶ûÀº Çϰí ÀÖ¾ú´Ù.

 

Revelation

 

We make ourselves a place apart

   Behind light words that tease and flout,

But oh, the agitated heart

   Till someone really find us out.

 

'Tis pity if the case require

   (Or so we say) that in the end

We speak the literal to inspire

   The understanding of a friend.

 

But so with all, from babes that play

   At hide-and-seek to God afar,

So all who hide too well away

   Must speak and tell us where they are.

 

µå·¯³¿

 

±«·ÓÈ÷°í Á¶·ÕÇÏ´Â °¡º­¿î ¸»µéÀ» ÇÇÇØ

    ¿ì¸®´Â ½º½º·Î È£Á£ÇÑ Àå¼Ò¸¦ ¸¶·ÃÇÑ´Ù,

±×·¯³ª ´©°¡ Á¤¸» ¿ì¸®¸¦ ã¾Æ³¾ ¶§±îÁö

    ¿À, »ê¶õÇÑ ¸¶À½À̶ó´Ï.

 

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    ¾î¶² Ä£±¸ÀÇ ÀÌÇØ¸¦ ºÎÃß±â±â À§ÇØ

»ç½ÇÀ» ¸»ÇÏ´Â °É ÇÊ¿ä·Î(¶Ç´Â ¿ì¸®°¡

    ±×·¸°Ô ¸»ÇÑ´Ù) ÇÑ´Ù¸é ±×°Ç ¾Ö¼®ÇÑ ÀÏÀÌ´Ù.

 

Ç㳪 ´Ù ¶È°°´Ù, ¸Ö¸® °è½Ã´Â ½ÅÀ» »ó´ë·Î

    ¼û¹Ù²ÀÁúÀ» ÇÏ´Â ¾î¸°¾Ö·ÎºÎÅÍ,

³Ê¹« Àß ¼ûÀº ³ª¸ÓÁö ÀÚ±âµéÀÌ

    ¾îµð ÀÖ´ÂÁö ¿ì¸®ÇÑÅ× ¸»ÇØ¾ß ÇÏ´Â »ç¶÷µé¿¡ À̸£±â±îÁö.

 

Mending Wall

 

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,

That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,

And spills the upper boulders in the sun;

And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.

The work of hunters is another thing:

I have come after them and made repair

Where they have left not one stone on a stone,

But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,

To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,

No one has seen them made or heard them made,

But at spring mending-time we find them there.

I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;

And on a day we meet to walk the lind

And set the wall between us once again.

We keep the wall between us as we go.

To each the boulders that have fallen to each.

And some are loaves and some so nearly balls

We have to use a spell to make them balance:

'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'

We wear our fingers rough with handling them.

Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,

One on a side. It comes to little more:

There where it is we do not need the wall:

He is all pine and I am apple orchard.

My apple trees will never get across

And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.

He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbours.

Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder

If I could put a notion in his head:

'Why do they make good neighbours? Isn't it

Where there are cows? But here there are no cows

Before I built a wall I'd ask to know

What I was walling in or walling out,

And to whom I was like to give offence.

Something there is that doens't love a wall,

That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,

But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather

He said it for himself. I see him there

Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top

In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.

He moves in darkness as it seems to me,

Not of woods only and the shade of trees.

He will not go behind his father's saying,

And he likes having thought of it so well

He says again, 'Good fences make good neighbours.'

 

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Home Burial

 

He saw her from the bottom of the stairs

Before she saw him. She was starting down,

Looking back over her shoulder at some fear.

She took a doubtful step and then undid it

To raiese herself and look again. He spoke

Advanding toward her: 'What is it you see

From up there always for I want to know.'

She turned and sank upon her skirts at that,

And her face changed from terrified to dull.

He said to gain time: 'What is it you see,'

Mounting until she cowered undere him.

'I will find out now. You must tell me, dear.'

She, in her place, refused him any help

With the least stiffening of her neck and silence.

She let him look, sure that he wouldn't see,

Blind creature; and a while her didn't see.

But at last he murmured, 'Oh,' and again, 'Oh.'

'What is it ¦¡ what?' she said.

 

                         'Just that I see.'

 

'You don't,' she challenged. 'Tell me what it is.'

 

'The wonder is I didn't see at once.

I never noticed it from here before.

I must be wonted to it ¦¡ that's the reason.

The little graveyard where my people are!

So small the window frames the whole of it.

Not so much larger than a bedroom, is it?

There are three stones of slate and one of marble,

Broad-shouldered little slabs there in the sunlight

On the sidehill. We haven't to mind those.

But I understand: it is not the stones,

But the child's mound'

 

         'Don't, don't, don't, don't,' she cried.

 

She withdrew shrinking from beneath his arm

That rested on the banister, and slid downstairs;

And turned on him with such a daunting look,

He said twice over before he knew himself:

'Can't a man speak of his own child he's los?'

 

'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.'

 

'Amy! Don't go to someone else this time.

Listen to me. I won't come down the stairs.'

He sat and fixed his chin between his fists.

'There's something I should like to ask you, dear.'

 

'You don't know how to ask it.'

 

                            'Help me, then.'

 

Her fingers moved the latch for all reply.

 

'My words are nearly always an offence.

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.

A man must partly give up being a man

With women-folk. We could have some arrangement

By which I'd bind myself to keep hands off

Anything special you're a-mind to name.

Though I don't like such things' twixt those that love.

Two that don't love can't live together without them.

But two that do can't live together with them.'

She moved the latch a little. 'Don't, don't go.

Don't carry it to someone else this time.

Tell me about it if it's something human.

Let me into your grief. I'm not so much

Unlike other folks as your standing there

Apart would make me out. Give me my chance.

I do think, though, you overdo it a little.

What, was it brought you up to think it the thing

To take your mother ¦¡ loss of a first child

So inconsolably ¦¡ in the face of love.

You'd think his memory might be satisfied.'

 

'There you go sneering now!'

 

'I'm not, I'm not!

You make me angry. I'll come down to you.

God, what a woman! And it's come to this,

A man can't speak of his own child that's dead.'

'You can't because you don't know how to speak.

If you had any feelings, you that dug

With your own hand-how could you?-his little grave

I saw you from that very window there,

Making the gravel leap and leap in air,

Leap up, like that, like that, and land so lightly

And roll back down the mound beside the hole.

I thought, Who is that man? I didn't know you.

And I crept down the stairs and up the stairs

To look again, and still your spade kept lifting.

Then you came in. I heard your rumbling voice

Out in the kitchen, and I don't know why,

But I went near to see with my own eyes.

You could sit there with the stains on your shoes

Of the fresh earth from your own baby's grave

And talk about your everyday concerns.

You had stood the spade up against the wall

Outside there in the entry, for I saw it.'

 

'I shall laugh the worst laugh I ever laughed.

I'm cursed. God, if I don't believer I'm cursed.'

 

'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 parlour.

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.

No, from the time when one is sick to death,

One is alone, and he dies more alone.

Friends make pretence of following to the grave,

But before one is in it, their minds are turned

And making the best of their way back to lie

And living people, and things they understand.

But the world's evil. I won't have grief so

If I can change it. Oh, I won't, I won't!'

 

'There, you have said it all and you feel better.

You won't go now. You're crying. Close the door.

The heart's gone out of it: why keep it up.

Amy! There's someone coming down the road!

 

'You ¦¡ oh, you think the talk is all. I must go

Somewhere out of this house. How can I make you ¦¡'

 

'If ¦¡ you ¦¡ do!' She was opening the door wider.

'Where do you mean to go? First tell me that.

I'll follow and bring you back by force. I will! ¦¡'

 

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Birches

 

When I see birches bend to left and right

Across the lines of straight darker trees,

I like to think some boy's been swinging them.

But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay

As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them

Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning

After a rain. They click upon themselves

As the breeze rises, and turn many-coloured

As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.

Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells

Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust ¦¡

Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away

You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.

They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,

And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed

So low for long, they never right themselves:

You may see their trunks arching in the woods

Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground

Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair

Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.

But I was going to say when Truth broke in

With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm

I should prefer to have some boy bend them

As he went out and in to fetch the cows ¦¡

Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,

Whose only play was what he found himself,

Summer or winter, and could play alone.

One boy one he subdued his father's trees

By riding them down over and over again

Until he took the stiffness out of them,

And not one but hung limp, not one was left

For him to conquer. He learned all there was

To learn about not launching out too soon

And so not carrying the tree away

Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise

To the top branches, climbing carefully

With the same pains you use to fill a cup

Up to the brim, and even above the brim.

Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,

Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.

So was I once myself a swinger of birches.

And so I dream of going back to be.

It's when I'm weary of considerations,

And life is too much like a pathless wood

Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs

Broken across it, and one eye is weeping

From a twig's having lashed across it open.

I'd like to get away from earth awhile

And then come back to it and begin over.

May no fate wilfully misunderstand me

And half grant what I wish and snatch me away

Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:

I don't know where it's likely to go better.

I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,

And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk

Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,

But dipped its top and set me down again.

That would be good both going and coming back.

One could do worse than be a swinger of branches.

 

ÀÚÀÛ³ª¹«

 

²Æ²ÆÇÏ°í °ËǪ¸¥ ³ª¹« Áٱ⠻çÀÌ·Î ÀÚÀÛ³ª¹«°¡

Á¿ì·Î ÈÖ¾îÁ® ÀÖ´Â °É º¸¸é

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±×·¯³ª Èçµé¾î¼­´Â

´«º¸¶ó°¡ ±×·¸°Ô ÇÏµí ³ª¹«µéÀ» ¾ÆÁÖ ÈÖ¾îÁ® ÀÖ°Ô´Â ¸øÇÑ´Ù.

ºñ°¡ ¿Â µÚ °³ÀÎ °Ü¿ï³¯ ¾ÆÄ§

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¹Ù¶÷ÀÌ ºÒ¸é Èçµé·Á µþ±×¶ô°Å¸®°í

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³ª¹«µéÀº ¾óÀ½ ¹«°Ô¿¡ ¸ø ÀÌ°Ü ¸»¶ó ºÙÀº °í»ç¸®¿¡ ³¡ÀÌ ´êµµ·Ï ÈÖ¾îÁöÁö¸¸,

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ÀÙÀ» ¶¥¿¡ ²ø¸ç Ç㸮¸¦ ±ÁÈ÷°í ÀÖ´Â

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½Ã°ñ ±¸¼®¿¡ »ì±â ¶§¹®¿¡ ¾ß±¸µµ ¸ø ¹è¿ì°í

½º½º·Î ¸¸µé¾î³½ Àå³­À» ÇÒ »ÓÀ̸ç

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°¡Áö°¡ ´Ù ÈÙ ¶§±îÁö

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Á¶½É½º·´°Ô ±â¾î¿À¸¥´Ù.

±×¸®°í´Â ¸öÀ» ³¯·Á, ¹ßÀÌ ¸ÕÀú ´êµµ·Ï Çϸ鼭,

È×ÇÏ°í ¹Ù¶÷À» °¡¸£¸ç ¶¥À¸·Î ¶Ù¾î³»¸°´Ù.

³ªµµ ÇÑ ¶§´Â ±×·¸°Ô ÀÚÀÛ³ª¹«¸¦ ÈÖ¾îÀâ´Â ¼Ò³âÀ̾ú´Ù.

±×·¡¼­ ³ª´Â ±× ½ÃÀý·Î µ¹¾Æ°¡°í ½Í¾îÇÑ´Ù.

°ÆÁ¤ÀÌ ¸¹¾ÆÁö°í

ÀλýÀÌ Á¤¸» ±æ ¾ø´Â ½£ °°¾Æ¼­

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ÇÑ ÂÊ ´«¿¡¼­ ´«¹°ÀÌ ³¯ ¶§¸é

´õ¿í ±× ½ÃÀý·Î µ¹¾Æ°¡°í ½Í¾îÁø´Ù.

ÀÌ ¼¼»óÀ» Àá½Ã ¶°³µ´Ù°¡

´Ù½Ã ¿Í¼­ »õ Ãâ¹ßÀ» ÇÏ°í ½Í¾îÁø´Ù.

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ÀÌ ¼¼»ó¿¡ µ¹¾Æ¿ÀÁö ¸øÇÏ°Ô ¾ÆÁÖ µ¥·Á°¡ ¹ö¸®Áö´Â ¾Ê°ÚÁö.

¼¼»óÀº »ç¶ûÇϱ⿡ ¾Ë¸ÂÀº °÷:

ÀÌ ¼¼»óº¸´Ù ´õ ³ªÀº °÷ÀÌ ¾îµð ÀÖ´ÂÁö ³ª´Â ¾ËÁö ¸øÇÑ´Ù.

³ª´Â ÀÚÀÛ³ª¹« Ÿµí »ì¾Æ°¡°í ½Í´Ù.

ÇÏ´ÃÀ» ÇâÇØ, ¼³¹é(àäÛÜ)ÀÇ Áٱ⸦ Ÿ°í °ËÀº °¡Áö¿¡ ¿Ã¶ó

³ª¹«°¡ ´õ °ßµðÁö ¸øÇÒ ¸¸Å­ ³ôÀÌ ¿Ã¶ó°¬´Ù°¡

°¡Áö ³¡À» ´Ã¾î¶ß·Á ´Ù½Ã ¶¥À§¿¡ ³»·Á¿Àµí »ì°í ½Í´Ù.

°¡´Â °Íµµ µ¹¾Æ¿À´Â °Íµµ ÁÁÀº ÀÏÀÌ´Ù.

ÀÚÀÛ³ª¹« Èçµå´Â À̺¸´Ù ÈξÀ ¸øÇÏ°Ô »ì ¼öµµ ÀÖÀ¸´Ï±î.

 

The Hill Wife

Loneliness ¦¡ Her Word

 

One ought not to have to care

So much as you and I

Care when the birds come round the house

To seem to say goodbye;

 

Or case so much when they come back

With whatever it is they sing;

The truth being we are as much

Too glad for the one thing

 

As we are too sad for the other here-

With birds that fill their breasts

But with each other and themselves

And their built or driven nests.

 

»ê°ñ ¾Æ³«³×

°íµ¶ ¦¡ ±×³àÀÇ ¸»

 

´ç½ÅÀ̳ª ³ª´Â

³Ê¹« °ÆÁ¤ÀÌ ¸¹Àº°¡ºÁ¿ä

»õµéÀÌ Áý ±Ùó¿¡ ¿Í¼­

ÀÛº° Àλ縦 ÇÒ ¶§µµ °ÆÁ¤.

 

¶Ç »õµéÀÌ ¹«¾ðÁö ³ë·¡Çϸç

µ¹¾Æ¿Ã ¶§µµ °ÆÁ¤À̰ŵç¿ä.

µûÁö°í º¸¸é ¿ì¸®´Â

¾î¶² ÀÏÀº ³Ê¹« ±â»µÇÏ´Â ¹Ý¸é

 

¾î¶² ÀÏÀº Áö³ªÄ¡°Ô ½½ÆÛÇϰŵç¿ä ¦¡

»õµéÀº ¼­·Î ÀúÈñµé³¢¸®

±×µéÀÌ Áö¾ú°Å³ª ÆÄ ³õÀº Áý¿¡¼­

¸¸Á·ÇÏ°Ô »ì »ÓÀ̰Ǹ¸.

 

The Telephone

 

'When I was just as far as I could walk

From here today,

There was an hour

All still

When leaning with my head against a flower

I heard you talk.

Don't say I didn't for I heard you say ¦¡

You spoke from that flower on the window sill ¦¡

Do you remember what it was you said?'

 

'First tell me what it was you thought you heard.'

 

'Having found the flower and driven a bee away,

I leaned my head,

And holding by the stalk,

I listened and I thought I caught the word ¦¡

What was it? Did you call me by my name?

Or did you say ¦¡

Someone said "Come" ¦¡ I heard it as I bowed.'

 

'I may have thought as much, but not aloud.'

 

'Well, so I came.'

 

ÀüÈ­

 

<¿À´Ã À̰÷À» ¶°³ª ¸¶À½²¯ °É¾î º¸¾Ò¾î¿ä,

°¡ º¸´Ï±î ½Ã°£Àº

¾ÆÁÖ °í¿äÈ÷ È帣°í ÀÖ¾ú°í

²É¿¡ ¸Ó¸®¸¦ ±â´ë°í ÀÖ³ë¶ó´Ï

´ç½Å ¸»¾¸ÀÌ µé·È¾î¿ä.

¸»¾¸ ¾È Çß´Ù°í ÇÏÁö´Â ¸¶¼¼¿ä ³ª´Â µé¾úÀ¸´Ï±î¿ä ¦¡

´ç½ÅÀº â°¡¿¡ ÀÖ´Â ²É¿¡¼­ ¸»¾¸ÇßÁö¿ä ¦¡

¹«¾î¶ó°í Çß´ÂÁö ±â¾ïÇϼ¼¿ä?

 

<´ç½ÅÀÌ ¹«½¼ ¸»À» µé¾ú´Ù°í »ý°¢ÇÏ´ÂÁö ¸ÕÀú ¸»¾¸ÇØ º¸¼¼¿ä.>

 

<²ÉÀÌ Àֱ⿡ ¹úÀ» ÂѾƹö¸®°í,

¸Ó¸®¸¦ ±â´òÁö¿ä,

²ÉÁٱ⸦ Àâ°í ±Í¸¦ ±â¿ïÀ̸鼭 ³ª´Â

¹«½¼ ¸»ÀÌ µé¸°´Ù°í »ý°¢Çß¾î¿ä ¦¡

±×°Ô ¹¹¿´ÁÒ? ³» À̸§À» ºÎ¸£¼Ì³ª¿ä?

¾Æ´Ï¸é ´ç½ÅÀº ¦¡

´©±º°¡ ¡®¿Í¿ä¡¯ÇÏ°í ¸»ÇßÁö¿ä ¦¡ ³ª´Â °í°³¸¦ ¼÷ÀÌ°í µé¾ú¾î¿ä.>

 

<¸¶À½¼ÓÀ¸·Î´Â ±×·¨´ÂÁö ¸ð¸£Áö¸¸ ³»»öÀº ÇÏÁö ¾Ê¾Ò´Âµ¥¿ä.>

 

<ÇÏ¿©°£ ±×·¡¼­ Á¦°¡ ¿ÔÁö¿ä.>

 

Dust Of Snow

 

The way a crow

Shook down on me

The dust of snow

From a hemlock tree

 

Has given my heart

A change of mood

And saved some part

Of a day I had rued.

 

´«°¡·ç

 

±î¸¶±Í ÇÑ ¸¶¸®

µ¶¹Ì³ª¸® °¡Áö¸¦ Èçµé¾î

³» À§¿¡

´«°¡·ç ¶³¾îÁö´Ï

 

±âºÐ ÇѰá

´Þ¶óÁö°í

ÈÄȸ½º·± ÇÏ·ç

Á¶±ÝÀº ±¸ÇØ ³»³×.

 

Fire And Ice

 

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favour fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice:

 

ºÒ°ú ¾óÀ½

 

¾î¶² »ç¶÷Àº ÀÌ ¼¼»óÀÌ ºÒ·Î ³¡³¯ °Å¶ó°í ¸»Çϰí,

¶Ç ¾î¶² »ç¶÷Àº ¾óÀ½À¸·Î ³¡³­´Ù°í ¸»ÇÑ´Ù.

³»°¡ ¸À º» ¿å¸Á¿¡ ºñÃ纸¸é

³ª´Â ºÒ·Î ³¡³­´Ù´Â »ç¶÷µé ÆíÀ» µé°í ½Í´Ù.

±×·¯³ª ¼¼»óÀÌ µÎ ¹ø ¸ê¸ÁÇÑ´Ù¸é

ÆÄ±«ÇÏ´Â µ¥´Â ¾óÀ½µµ

´ë´ÜÇÑ ÈûÀ» °®°í ÀÖ´Ù°í ¸»ÇÒ ¸¸Å­

³ª´Â Áõ¿À¿¡ ´ëÇØ¼­µµ ÃæºÐÈ÷ ¾Ë°í ÀÖ´Ù°í »ý°¢ÇÑ´Ù

±×¸®°í ±×·¸°Ô ¸»ÇÏ´Â °É·Î ÃæºÐÇÏ´Ù

 

Nothing Gold Can Stay

 

Nature's first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes gown to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

 

¾î¶² Âù¶õÇÑ °Íµµ ¿À·¡°¡Áö ¸øÇϸ®

 

ÀÚ¿¬ÀÇ ¿¬ÃÊ·ÏÀº Âù¶õÇÏÁö¸¸,

ÁöÅÊÇϱâ Á¦ÀÏ Èûµç »ö.

±× ¶±ÀÙÀº ²ÉÀÌÁö¸¸,

ÇÑ ½Ã°£À̳ª °¥±î.

Á¶¸¸°£ ÀÙÀÌ ÀÙ À§¿¡ ³»·Á¾É´Â´Ù.

±×·¸°Ô ¿¡µ§Àº ½½ÇÄ¿¡ ºüÁö°í,

»õº®Àº Çѳ·ÀÌ µÈ´Ù.

¾î¶² Âù¶õÇÑ °Íµµ ¿À·¡°¡Áö ¸øÇϸ®.

 

Two Look At Two

 

Love and forgetting might have carried them

A little further up the mountainside

With night so near, but not much further up.

They must have halted soon in any case

With thoughts of the path back, how rough it was

With rock and washout, and unsafe in darkness;

When they were halted by a tumbled wall

With barbed-wire binding. They stood facing this,

Spending what onward impulse they still had

In one last look the way they must not go,

On up the failing path, where, if a stone

Or earthslide moved at night, it moved itself;

No footstep moved it. 'This it all,' they sighed,

'Good-night to woods.' But not so; there was more.

A doe from round a spruce stood looking at them

Across the wall, as near the wall as they.

She saw them in their field, they her in hers.

The difficulty of seeing what stood still,

Like some up ¦¡ ended boulder spilt in two,

Was in her clouded eyes: they saw no fear there.

She seemed to think that two thus they were safe.

Then, as if they were something that, thought strange,

She could not trouble her mind with too long,

She sighed and passed unscared along the wall.

'This, then, is all. What more is there to ask?'

But no, not yet. A snort to bid them wait.

A buck from round the spruce stood looking.

Across the wall as near the wall as they.

This was an antlered buck of lusty nostril,

Not the same doe come back into her place.

He viewed them quizzically with jerks of head,

As if to ask, 'Why don't you make some motion?

Or give some sign of life? Because you can't.

I doubt if you're as living as you look.'

Thus till he had them almost feeling dared

To stretch a proffering hand ¦¡ and a spell ¦¡ breaking.

Then he too passed unscared along the wall.

Two had seen two, whichever side you spoke from

'This must be all.' It was all Still they stood

A great wave from it going over them,

As if earth in one unlooked ¦¡ for favour

Had made them certain earth returned their love.

 

µÑÀÌ µÑÀ» º»´Ù

 

»ç¶û°ú ¸Á°¢ÀÌ ±×µéÀ»

»êÇ㸮·Î ´õ ¿Ã¶ó°¡°Ô ÇßÀ» °Å¿¹¿ä

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¹ÙÀ§¿Í °ñâÀÌ ÀÖ´Â ±æÀÌ ¾ó¸¶³ª ÇèÇßÀ¸¸ç,

¾îµÒ ¼Ó¿¡ µ¹¾Æ°¡´Â °Ô ¾ó¸¶³ª À§ÇèÇÒ±î »ý°¢Çϸ鼭

±×µéÀº °á±¹ ¹ßÀ» ¸ØÃß¾î¾ß ÇßÀ» °ÍÀÔ´Ï´Ù.

±×·±µ¥ öÁ¶¸ÁÀ» µÎ¸¥ ´ãÀÌ

¹ßÀ» ¸ØÃß°Ô Çß½À´Ï´Ù. ´ãÀ» ÃÄ´Ùº¸¸ç

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±×µéÀº ´õ ¿À¸¦ ¼ö ¾ø´Â ±æÀ» Çѹø ´õ ÃÄ´Ùº¸°í

±×µéÀº ¼­ ÀÖ¾ú´Âµ¥¿ä,

°Å±â´Â ¹ãÁß¿¡ µ¹ÀÌ ±¸¸£°Å³ª Èëµ¢¾î¸®°¡ ±¼·¯ ³»¸®¸é ÀúÀý·Î ÈëÀÌ ¹«³ÊÁú »Ó,

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<ÀÎÁ¦´Â ±×¸¸À̷αº. ¹¹ ´õ º¼°Ô ÀÖ³ª?>

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ÀÌÂÊ¿¡¼­ ´ã±îÁö¿Í ºñ½ÁÇÑ °Å¸®°í ´ã ÀúÂÊ¿¡¼­.

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¸Ó¸®¸¦ È´ ¿òÁ÷ÀÌ¸ç ±×µéÀ» ÀÍ»ì¸Â°Ô ÃÄ´Ùº¸´Â ÆûÀÌ,

¸¶Ä¡ ÀÌ·¸°Ô ¹¯´Â °Í °°¾Ò½À´Ï´Ù. <¿Ö ´ç½ÅµéÀº ¿òÁ÷ÀÌÁö¸¦ ¾ÊÁÒ?

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±×µéÀ» È۽δ ī´Ù¶õ °¨Á¤ÀÇ ÆÄµµ¸¦ ´À³¢¸é¼­.

      An old Man's Winter Night 

All out-of-door looked darkly in at him

Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,

That gathers on the pane in empty rooms.

What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze

Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.

What kept him from remembering what it was

That brought him to that creaking room was age.

He stood with barrels round him - at a loss.

And having scared the cellar under him

In clomping here, he scared the outer night,

Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar

Of trees and crack of branches, common things,

But nothing so like beating on a box.

A light he was to no one but himself

Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what,

A quiet light, and then not even that.

He consigned to the moon¡ª such as she was,

So late-arising-to the broken moon,

As better than the sun in any case

For such a charge, his snow upon the roof,

His icicles along the wall to keep;

And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt

Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted,

And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept.

One aged man-one man- can't keep a house,

A farm, a countryside, or if he can.

It's thus he does it of a winter night.

        ³ëÀÎÀÇ °Ü¿ï¹ã 

¹®¹ÛÀÇ ¸ðµç °ÍµéÀÌ ÅÖ ºó ¹æÀÇ À¯¸®Ã¢¿¡

¸î °³ÀÇ º°Ã³·³ ºÙ¾îÀÖ´Â ¾ãÀº ¼­¸®¸¦ ÅëÇØ

Àº¹ÐÈ÷ ±×¸¦ µé¿©´Ù º¸°í ÀÖ¾ú´Ù.

±×ÀÇ ´«ÀÌ ±× ¹«¼­¿î ÀÀ½Ã¿¡ ¸Â´ëÀÀÇÏÁö ¾Ê´Â °ÍÀº

´«°¡±îÀÌ·Î ±â¿ïÀÎ µîºÒ ¶§¹®À̾ú´Ù.

»ß°Æ°Å¸®´Â ¹æÀ¸·Î ±×¸¦ µ¥·Á¿Â °ÍÀÌ ¹«¾ùÀΰ¡¸¦

±â¾ïÇÏÁö ¸øÇÏ°Ô ÇÑ °ÍÀº ¹Ù·Î ±×ÀÇ ³ë³âÀ̾ú´Ù.

-±×´Â ÅëÁÖº¯¿¡ µÑ·¯½Î¿© ¼­ ÀÖ¾ú´Ù¡ª ±×¸®°í ¹Ù±ù

¾îµÒµµ µÎ·Æ°Ô ¸¸µé¾ú´Ù. ¹ãÀº ÈçÈ÷ ³ª¹µ°¡Áö°¡

ºÎ·¯Áö´Â ¼Ò¸®¿Í °°Àº Ä£±ÙÇÑ ¼Ò¸®¸¦ ³»Áö¸¸

±Ë¦À» µÎµå¸®´Â µíÇÑ ¼Ò¸®´Â ³»Áö ¾Ê´Â´Ù.

µîºÒÀº ´ÜÁö ±× ÀÚ½ÅÀ̾ú´Ù.

¾ÉÀº ä·Î ÀڽŸ¸ÀÌ ¾Ë°í ÀÖ´Â °ÍÀ» °ÆÁ¤Çϸç

ºñÃß¾îÁÖ´Â ¸»¾ø´Â µîºÒ,

±×¸®°í´Â ±× µîºÒ¸¶Àúµµ ²¨Á³´Ù.

±×´Â ¾ðÁ¦³ª ´Ê°Ô ¶ß´Â ´ÞÀÌ

ÀÌ·± ÀÏ¿¡´Â ÇØº¸´Ù ³·´Ù°í ¿©±â¸ç

ÁöºØÀ§ÀÇ ´«°ú ´ãÀ» µû¶ó

¸Å´Þ¸° °íµå¸§À» ÁöŰ°Ô Çϸç

ÀáÀÌ µé¾ú´Ù. ³­·Î¿¡¼­ ÀåÀÛÀÌ Å¸´Â ¼Ò¸®¿¡

¸öÀ» µÚô¿´Áö¸¸ °ð ±×´Â Èû°Ü¿î È£ÈíÀ» Çϸç

°è¼Ó ÀáÀ» Àä´Ù. ³ëÀΠȥÀÚ¼­ Áý°ú

³óÀå°ú ÇÑ Áö¿ªÀ» Áöų ¼ø ¾ø´Ù.

Áöų ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù ÇÏ´õ¶óµµ ±×Àú °Ü¿ï¹ãÀ»

ÀÌ·± ½ÄÀ¸·Î º¸³»´Â °Í »Ó.

ÀÛǰ ÇØÁ¦ :

 

 ÀÌ ½Ã´Â ¾îµÒÀ» ÁÖÁ¦·Î ³ÃȤÇϰí Á×À½°úµµ °°Àº »îÀÇ ±¤Àå¿¡ ¿Ü·Ó°Ô ³» ´øÁ®Áø ä ³ë¼èÇÔ°ú °ð ÀÌ¾î »ç¸ÁÀ̶ó´Â ¼øÈ¯ÀÇ Àλý°æ·Î¸¦ ¹â¾Æ°¡´Â ÇÑ Àΰ£ÀÇ ¸ð½ÀÀÌ ½ÇÁ¸ÀûÀ¸·Î Àß ³ªÅ¸³ª°í ÀÖ½À´Ï´Ù.'°Ü¿ï¹ã'°ú '³ëÀÎ'ÀÇ ¸ÞŸÆ÷´Â ´Ù °°ÀÌ Á×À½À» »ó¡ÇÏ´Â °´°üÀû »ó°ü¹°µéÀÌÁÒ. ¹Ù±ùÀÇ Â£Àº ¾îµÒÀÌ ¸¶Ä¡ Àú½Â»çÀÚÀÎ¾ç ³ëÀÎÀ» ³ë·Áº¸´Â µíÇÑ »óȲÀº ³ëÀÎÀÌ Á÷¸éÇϰí ÀÖ´Â ³»ÀûÀÎ »óȲÀ¸·Î À̾îÁö°í ÀÖ½À´Ï´Ù. ´õ¿ì±â "±Ë¦À» µÎµå¸®´Â µíÇÑ ¼Ò¸®"´Â ³ëÀÎÀÌ ¹«Àǽļӿ¡¼­ µè´Â ¼Ò¸®·Î ÀÚ±â ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ °ü µÎ²±¿¡ ¸¶Áö¸· ¸øÁúÀ» ÇÏ´Â ¼Ò¸®·Î ¿¬°áµÇ¸ç ¹æ ÀÚü°¡ '°ü'À¸·Î ÀºÀ¯µÇ°í ÀÖ½À´Ï´Ù. °á±¹ ÇÁ·Î½ºÆ®´Â ÀÌ ½Ã¸¦ ÅëÇÏ¿© Çö´ëÀÎÀÇ ½ÇÁ¸ ¸ð½ÀÀ» ±×¸®°í ÀÖ´Ù ÇÒ ¼ö Àִµ¥ ÀÌ·¸°Ô öÀúÈ÷ °í¸³µÇ¾î ÀÖ´Â ³ëÀÎÀÇ »óȲÀÌ ¹Ù·Î ¿ì¸®µéÀÇ ½ÇÁ¸ Á¶°ÇÀÌ µÇ°í ÀÖ´Â °Ì´Ï´Ù. ´Ù½Ã ¸»Çؼ­ »ýÁß»ç¿Í °°Àº »óȲ¼ÓÀÇ Áý °ø°£Àº °á±¹ ³ÃȤÇÑ »îÀÇ ±¤ÀåÀÌ¸ç ¹«±â·ÂÇÑ ³ëÀÎÀº ¹Ù·Î ÁýÀ̶ó´Â µ£¿¡ ºüÁø ¿ì¸® Çö´ëÀεéÀÇ ºÒÈ®½ÇÇÑ ½ÇÁ¸ÀÇ ¸ð½ÀÀÎ °ÍÀÔ´Ï´Ù. ÇÏÁö¸¸ ³ëÀÎÀº ±×·¯ÇÑ ÇѰè»óȲÇÏ¿¡¼­µµ ¼Õ¿¡ µîÀÜÀ» µç´ÙµçÁö ÁöÇÏ½Ç ¹Ù´ÚÀ» µÎµå·Á º¸´Â ÀÏ µîÀ» ÅëÇØ¼­ ¹Ì¾àÇϳª¸¶ °­ÇÑ ½ÇÁ¸ÀÇÁö¸¦ º¸¿©ÁÖ°í ÀÖ´Ù ÇϰڽÀ´Ï´Ù.
(Ãâó : http://www.koceli.com/celi/lecture3/freelecture/walking/walking031901.html)

 

       Nothing Gold Can Stay

 

Nature's first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

       ±ÝºûÀº ¿À·¡°¡Áö ¾Ê´Â´Ù

 

ÀÚ¿¬ÀÇ Ã¹ Ǫ¸§Àº ±Ýºû

ºÙÀâ¾ÆµÎ±â °¡Àå ¾î·Á¿î ºû±ò.

ÀÚ¿¬ÀÇ Ã¹ ¹øÂ° ÀÙ»ç±Í´Â ²É.

ÇÏÁö¸¸ ÇÑ ½Ã°£Àº

ÇǾîÀÖÀ»±î¿ä.

¿¡µ§Àº ½½ÇÄ¿¡ Àá°Ü¹ö·È°í

»õº®Àº ³·À¸·Î Åð»öÇÏ´Â °Í.

±ÝºûÀº ¿À·¡°¡Áö ¸øÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÌÁö¿ä.

Ãâó : http://www.koceli.com/celi/lecture3/freelecture/walking/walking030601.html

ÀÛǰ ÇØÁ¦ :

 ½ÃÀÎÀº ÀÌ ½Ã¸¦ ÅëÇÏ¿© ¿ìÁÖ´Â Áö±ØÈ÷ º¯È­¹«½ÖÇÑ º»ÁúÀ» °¡Áö°í ÀÖ´Ù´Â °ÍÀ» ¸»ÇØÁÖ°í ÀÖ½À´Ï´Ù. ¾î´À °Í Çϳªµµ ¸ØÃ߰ųª Á¤ÁöÇØ ÀÖ´Â °ÍÀº ¾ø´Ù´Â °ÍÀÌÁö¿ä. ±×·¯¹Ç·Î ½ÃÀÎÀº »îÀÇ Áø¸®¸¦ ±ú´Ý´Â °ÍÀ» ÀÌ·¯ÇÑ º¯È­¸¦ ÀνÄÇÏ°í ¸Å ¼ø°£À» ¼º½ÇÇÏ°Ô Ã¤¿ö¾ß ÇÑ´Ù´Â °ÍÀ» ¿ª¼³ÀûÀ¸·Î ÇÇ·ÂÇØ ÁÖ°í ÀÖ½À´Ï´Ù. ÀÌ Â©¸·ÇÑ ½Ã¸¦ ÅëÇÏ¿© ÇÁ·Î½ºÆ®´Â ±ÝÀ̶ó´Â ¸ÞŸÆ÷¸¦ ÀÌ¿ëÇÏ¿© ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿òÀ̶ó´Â °ÍÀÌ °ð »ç¶óÁ®¹ö¸± °ÍÀ̶ó´Â °ÍÀ» ¾Ï½ÃÇØÁÖ°í ÀÖ½À´Ï´Ù. ÇÏÁö¸¸ ÀÌ ½ÃÀÇ ºÐÀ§±â°¡ ºñ±ØÀûÀÌÁö ¾ÊÀº °ÍÀº ½ÃÀÎ ÀÚ½ÅÀÌ ÀÌ·¯ÇÑ Çö½Ç, Áï Á¸ÀçÇÏ´Â °ÍÀº »ý¼º°ú ¼Ò¸êÀÇ °úÁ¤À» °Þ´Â´Ù´Â °ÍÀ» °£ÆÄÇϰí ÀÖ´Ù´Â °ÍÀÌ°í ±×·³À¸·Î½á À¯ÇÑÇÑ »î¿¡ ´ëÇÑ ¼ö¿ëÀÇ ÀÚ¼¼¸¦ º¸À̰í Àֱ⠶§¹®ÀÏ °Ì´Ï´Ù.

Acquainted with the Night

 

I have been one acquainted with the night.

I have walked out in rain¡ª abd back in rain.

I have outwalked the furthest city light.

 

I have looked down the saddest city lane.

I have passed by the watchman on his beat

And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

 

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet

When far away an interrupted cry

Came over houses from another street,

 

But not to call me back or say good-by;

And further still at an unearthly height

One luminary clock against the sky

 

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.

I have been one acquainted with the night.

              ¹ãÀ» Àß ¾Ë°í ÀÖ´Ù

 

³ª´Â ¹ãÀ» Àß ¾Ë°í ÀÖ¾ú´Ù. ºø¼ÓÀ» °É¾î

³ª°¬´Ù°¡ ºø¼ÓÀ» µ¹¾Æ¿À±âµµ Çß´Ù.

³ª´Â µµ½ÃÀÇ °¡Àå ¸Ö¸® º¸ÀÌ´Â ºÒºû ³Ê¸Ó±îÁöµµ °¡ º¸¾Ò´Ù.

 

³ª´Â °¡Àå ºñÂüÇÑ µµ½ÃÀÇ °ñ¸ñÀ» °É¾î º¸¾Ò´Ù.

±×·¯´Ù ¼øÂûÀ» µµ´Â ¼ø¶ó²ÛÀÌ¶óµµ ¸¸³ª°Ô µÇ¸é

ÇØ¸íÇϱⰡ ½È¾î ½Ã¼±À» ¶³±¸¾î ¹ö·È´Ù.

 

³ª´Â ¸ØÃ߾¼­ ¹ß¼Ò¸®¸¦ Á×ÀÌ°í ¸Ö¸® ¶³¾îÁø

¶Ç ´Ù¸¥ ±æ¿¡¼­ ³ª´Â ¼Ò¸®°¡ ÁýµéÀ» ³Ñ¾î

¿À´Â ¼Ò¸®µµ µé¾ú´Ù.

 

±×·¯³ª ±×°ÍÀº ³ª¸¦ ºÎ¸£´Â °Íµµ Àß °¡¶ó´Â

Àλ絵 ¾Æ´Ï¾ú´Ù. ±×¸®°í ¹«Ã´À̳ª ³ôÀº °÷¿¡

ÇÏ´ÃÀ» ¹è°æÀ¸·Î ¼± ¾ß±¤½Ã°è Çϳª°¡

 

Á¤È®ÇÑ ½Ã°£À» ¸»ÇØ ÁÖÁö ¾Ê¾Ò´Ù.

³ª´Â ¹ãÀ» Àß ¾Ë°í ÀÖ´Ù.

ÀÛǰ ÇØÁ¦ :

  ÀÌ ½Ã´Â ÇÁ·Î½ºÆ®ÀÇ ¾îµÒÀ» ¼ÒÀç·Î ÇÑ ´ëÇ¥ÀûÀÎ ½Ãµé Áß Çϳª·Î ¿Ü·Î¿òÀ̳ª Á×À½, °øÆ÷µîÀ¸·Î ÀºÀ¯µÇ´Â ¹ãÀ» ¹è°æÀ¸·Î Çϰí ÀÖ½À´Ï´Ù. ½ÃÀÇ È­ÀÚ´Â ºñ¿À´Â ¹ã ±æÀ» °É¾î ³ª°¬´Ù°¡ µ¹¾Æ ¿À¸é¼­ ¾ß°æ²Ûµµ ¸¸³ª°í ÈĹÌÁø °ñ¸ñ±æÀ» Ÿ°í ³Ñ¾î¿À´Â ¼Ò¸®¸¦ µè±âµµ ÇÏÁö¸¸ °á±¹Àº ±×·± ¸ðµç ȯ°æ¿¡¼­ ¼Ò¼Ó°¨À» °®Áö ¸øÇÏ°í ½º½º·Î "³ª´Â ¹ãÀ» Àß ¾Ë°í ÀÖ´Ù."¶ó´Â ÀÚÀ§¸¦ ÇÏ¸ç ³¡À» ¸Î°í ÀÖ½À´Ï´Ù. Áï ±×°ÍÀº ¿Ü¿¬À» ÅëÇØ Àΰ£ ³»¸éÀÇ ¼¼°è¸¦ Àß ³ªÅ¸³»´Â ÇÁ·Î½ºÆ® ½ÃÀÇ Æ¯¼ºÀ» °í·ÁÇØ º¼ ¶§ °á±¹Àº È­ÀÚ ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ ³»¸éÀÇ ¹ãÀ¸·Î ¿¬°áÀÌ °¡´ÉÇÕ´Ï´Ù. ´õºÒ¾î ¿©±â¿¡¼­ÀÇ È­ÀÚ´Â Çö´ëÀÎÀÌ¸é ´©±¸³ª°¡ üÇèÇÏ´Â ¹ãÀ¸·Î ÀºÀ¯µÇ¾îÁø Çö½Ç¼Ó¿¡¼­ Á¤Ã¼¼ºÀ» ÀÒ°í ¹æÈ²ÇÏ´Â ¿ì¸®µé ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ ¸ð½À°ú Á÷°áµÇ°í ÀÖ´Â °ÍÀÔ´Ï´Ù.

(Ãâó : http://www.koceli.com/celi/lecture3/freelecture/walking/walking022601.html)

Once by the Pacific

 

The shattered water made a misty din.

Great waves looked over others coming in,

And thought of doing something to the shore

That water never did to land before.

The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,

Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.

You could not tell, and yet it looked as if

The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,

The cliff in being backed by continent;

It looked as if a night of dark intent

Was coming, and not only a night, an age.

Someone had better be prepared for rage.

There would be more than ocean-water broken

Before God's last Put out the Light was spoken.

          ¾ðÁ¨°¡ ÅÂÆò¾ç¿¡¼­

 

Èð¾îÁö´Â ¹°°áÀº »Ç¾é°Ô Æ÷¸»À» ±×·Á ³»¾ú´Ù.

Áýä ¸¸ÇÑ ÆÄµµ°¡ ¹Ð·Á¿À´Â ÆÄµµ¸¦ ¹Ù¶óº¸¸ç

¿©Å±îÁö ¹°ÀÌ ¹·¿¡ °¡Çغ» ÀûÀÌ ¾ø´Â

¾öû³­ ÀÏÀ» ÇØº¼±î »ý°¢ÇÏ¿´´Ù.

Çϴÿ£ ³·°Ô µå¸®¿öÁø Åб¸¸§,

¹ø¶àÀÌ´Â ´«À§·Î Èê·¯³»¸° ¸Ó¸®Ä®Ã³·³

º­¶ûÀÌ ÇØ¾ÈÀ» ¹ÞÃÄÁÖ°í

´ë·úÀÌ ÇØ¾ÈÀ» ¹ÞÃÄÁÖ°í ÀÖÀ½ÀÌ

¾Æ¹«·¡µµ ´ÙÇེ·¯¿ö º¸¿´´Ù.

¾ÇÀÇ·Î °¡µæÂù ¹ãÀÌ, ¾Æ´Ï ¹ã»Ó ¸¸ÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó

ÇÑ ½Ã´ë°¡ ´Ù°¡¿À°í ÀÖ´Â °Í °°¾Ò´Ù.

±×·¯ÇÑ È䯸ÇÔÀ» ÁغñÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÌ ³´´Ù.

'ºÒÀ» ²ô¶ó'´Â ½ÅÀÇ ¸¶Áö¸· ¸»ÀÌ ÀÖ±â Àü¿¡

ºÎ¼­Áö´Â ÆÄµµ ÀÌ»óÀÇ °ÍÀÌ ÀÖÀ» °ÍÀÌ´Ù.

ÀÛǰ ÇØÁ¦ :

 ÀÌ ½Ã´Â ÇÁ·Î½ºÆ® ½ÃÀÇ »ó´ç ºÎºÐÀ» Â÷ÁöÇϰí ÀÖ´Â ÀÚ¿¬ÀÇ Æø·Â¼ºÀ» ´Ù·é ÀÛǰ¿¡ ¼ÓÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÔ´Ï´Ù. ÀÌ ½ÃÀÇ ¹è°æÀº ½ÃÀÎÀÌ ¾î¸° ½ÃÀýÀ» º¸³Â´ø »÷ÇÁ¶õ½Ã½ºÄÚÀÇ ±Ý¹®±³(Golden Gate Bridge)·Î ÀÌ °÷¿¡¼­ ÇÁ·Î½ºÆ®´Â ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ ºÎ¸ð¿Í, »ó½ÇµÇ°í ȸ»ýÀÌ ºÒ°¡´ÉÇÑ µíÇÑ Àΰ£ ¼¼»ó¿¡ ´ëÇØ ¹ø¹Î¿¡ ºüÁ³¾ú½À´Ï´Ù. ½ÃÀÎÀº ÀÚ¿¬À» Ç×»ó Àΰ£°ú ±³°¨ÇÏ¸ç ±× ¼Ó¿¡¼­ ¾î¿ì·¯Áú ¼ö ÀÖ´Â ½Çü·Î ±×¸®Áö ¾Ê¾Ò½À´Ï´Ù. ÀÌ ½Ã¿¡¼­µµ ÀÚ¿¬ÀÇ Æø·ÂÀûÀÎ ÁÖü¸¦ ÅÂÆò¾çÀÇ °Å´ëÇÑ ÆÄµµ¿Í Áö±Ý ´çÀåÀÌ¶óµµ ¿ÂÅë ´ëÁö¸¦ ÈÖ°¨¾Æ ¹ö¸± µíÇÑ ±â¼¼ÀÎ ³·°Ô µå¸®¿öÁø ±¸¸§°ú ¼­¼­È÷ ¾ö½ÀÇØ¿À´Â ¾îµÒÀÇ »ï ¹ÚÀÚ¸¦ ÅëÇÕÇÑ ¸ÞŸÆ÷·Î ±×¸®°í ÀÖ½À´Ï´Ù. ÇÏÁö¸¸ ÀÌ·¯ÇÑ ÀÚ¿¬ÀÇ Æø·Â¼º ¾Õ¿¡¼­ Àΰ£Àº ÁÂÀýÇϱ⠺¸´Ü ½ÇÁ¸ÀÇ »óȲÀ» ¹Ù·Î ÀνÄÇÏ°í ±×·¯ÇÑ ºÒÈ®½ÇÇÑ ¼¼»óÇÏ¿¡¼­ Á¤Ã¼¼ºÀ» ȸº¹ÇÏ·Á´Â ²÷ÀÓ¾ø´Â ³ë·ÂÀ» ÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÔ´Ï´Ù.

(Ãâó : http://www.koceli.com/celi/lecture3/freelecture/walking/walking022101.html)

            Desert Places

Snow falling and night falling fast. oh. fast

In a field I looked into going fast,

And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,

But a few weeds and stubble showing last.

 

The woods around it have¡ª it is theirs.

All animals are smothered in their lairs.

I am too absent-spirited to count;

The loneliness includes me unawares.

 

And lonely as it is, that loneliness

Wii be more lonely ere it will be less¡ª

A blanker whiteness of benighted snow

With no expression, nothing to express.

 

They cannot scare me with their empty spaces

Between stars¡ª on stars where no human races is.

I have it in me so much nearer home

To scare myself with my own desert places.

           È²·®ÇÑ °÷

´«ÀÌ ³»¸°´Ù. ¹ãÀÌ ³»¸®°í ÀÖ´Ù. ºü¸£°Ô, ¾Æ! ºü¸£°Ô

µéÆÇÀ» Áö³ª¸ç µé¿©´Ù º¸´Ï

¶¥Àº °ÅÀÇ ´«À¸·Î Æ÷±ÙÈ÷ µ¤Çô

¸î¸î ÀâÃÊ¿Í ±×·çÅͱ⸸ÀÌ ³²¾Ò´Ù.

 

ÁÖº¯ÀÇ ½£µé¸¸ÀÌ µéÀ» ÁöŲ´Ù¡ªµéÆÇÀº ½£ÀÇ ¸òÀÌ´Ù.

¸ðµç µ¿¹°µéÀº Á¦°¢±â ±×µéÀÇ º¸±ÝÀÚ¸®·Î ã¾Æ µé¾ú´Ù.

³Ê¹«³ª ¸¶À½ÀÌ ÅÖ ºñ¾î Çì¾Æ¸± ¼ö Á¶Â÷ ¾ø´Ù.

°íµ¶ÀÌ ³ª¸¦ ºÎÁöºÒ½Ä°£¿¡ ÈÖ°¨¾Æ ¹ö·ÈÀ¸´Ï.

 

±×¸®°í °íµ¶ÇÏÁö¸¸, ±× °íµ¶Àº

´õ¿í °íµ¶ÇØÁ®¾ß »ç±×·¯ µé °ÍÀÌ´Ï¡ª

¹ã¿¡ ÈÛ½ÎÀÎ ´«ÀÇ ÅÖ ºó ¹é»ö

Ç¥Á¤µµ ¾ø°í, Ç¥ÇöÇÒ °Íµµ ¾ø´Ù.

 

º°°ú º°»çÀÌÀÇ ÅÖ ºó °ø°£µé¡ª

Àΰ£µéÀÌ ¾ø´Â º°µéÀÇ °ø°£Àº µÎ·ÆÁö ¾Ê´Ù.

³»°Ô ÈξÀ ´õ Àý½ÇÇÑ µÎ·Á¿òÀº

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