Вольный перевод стихотворения
американского поэта Роберта Фроста

A Late Walk
 
  When I go up through the mowing field,
  The headless aftermath,
  Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
  Half closes the garden path.
 
  And when I come to the garden ground,
  The whir of sober birds
  Up from the tangle of withered weeds
  Is sadder than any words
 
  A tree beside the wall stands bare,
  But a leaf that lingered brown,
  Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
  Comes softly rattling down.
 
  I end not far from my going forth
  By picking the faded blue
  Of the last remaining aster flower
  To carry again to you.
  1913 "A Boy's Will".