Emily Dickinson有一首关于希望的小诗，难得的浅显易懂。网上搜了一下，没看到满意的翻译。许是高手都不屑出手？:-) 只好自己动手。
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
希望，它长着羽翼，
在我们的灵魂栖息，
它唱着无词的曲儿，
永不停息。
风中，那歌声最是甜蜜，
暴雨，会是怎样的狂戾，
才能让那给予众人温暖的小鸟，
不安颤栗。
那歌声，曾飘荡在最冰冷的陆地，
也曾在最僻远的海上响起；
而即使在最困窘的境地，
它也不曾向我索取过，
哪怕一丁点儿面包碎粒。
最后一句,本想翻成“哪怕一分一厘”，仔细一想，整首诗都把希望比作小鸟，那么也许用crumb的原意会更恰当一些。但是，“面包碎粒”读上去又怪怪的，难办。
这首诗很阳光。
还有一首印象深刻的有关希望的诗却是相当的noir. 它节选自Pope的An Essay on Man，在Veronica Mars的Pilot隆重登场。
高二A.P English教室，老师点名让正在睡觉的Veronica谈An Essay on Man. Veronica非常流利的背诵了下面这一节：
“Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never is, but always to be blest:
The soul, uneasy and confined from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.”
老师问，And what do you suppose Pope meant by that?
Veronica语出惊人: Life’s a ***** until you die.
（听到这一句，我立刻爱上了她）
同学哄笑，老师做总结： Okay, thank you Ms Mars for that succinct and somewhat inappropriate response.
I think what Pope’s saying is that the thing that keeps us powering through life’s defeats is our faith in a better life yet to come.
正经的解释好无趣哦。
