Things are not "made up" in Frost, "not made up" in the sense of imagined, called up out of thin air, like fairies and elves.
弗罗斯特的诗歌里没有编造,没有想象,像仙女和精灵那样的凭空想象。
We can only imagine the fallen angels with a kind of dim uncertainty just as the belated peasant sees, or perhaps he only dreams he sees, the dance of fairy elves by a forest side.
我们只能想象出堕落的天使们带着暗淡的变幻的光,正如他见到的,又或者是他梦见的,林边跳舞的精灵们。
Frost is also here specifically writing against the early poetry of Yeats, which you'll read next week, poetry that finds reality exactly in "dream," and that has plenty of fairies and elves in it.
这里弗罗斯特也特别的与叶芝的早期诗歌不同,你们下周会读到叶芝的,他的诗歌在梦中找到现实“,里面有一些小精灵。
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