Double-translation fun

Slow day programming-wise, so I’ve had fun double-translating with AltaVista’s BabelFish (i.e., English to other language, then the results back to English).  I thought I’d share some wonderful translations of Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.  Of course, the original:

Whose woods these 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.

First, English-to-Japanese and back:

But as for me having known think of someone’s forest where these are I,
As for that house in the village it is.
He does not look at that I am stopped here
In order to observe at that that forest is full with the snow.

As for the horse where I am small,
When the forest it stops soon between the lake
Which freezes, without the farmer queer,
Evening that year is darkest must think.

He gives the vibration, to the bell of that harness
In order to ask whether or not there is the mistake.
The only other things the extent of the thin layer
The easy wind of sound and like the cotton wool.

The forest is beautiful, is deep darkly,
But before I sleep, I sleep,
And before possessing mile which goes,
As for me the promise which is maintained and mile which goes.

Then we try Russian:

Whose of wood, these they will be which me think 4 he knows,
Its house is located in the village however.
He will not see, that I stopped here,
In order to observe, as its woods they filled upward with the snow.

My small horse must think it queer,
In order to stop without farmhouse nearly,
Between the woods and the frozen lake,
The darkest evening of year.

It gives to its bells of installation shake,
In order ask if a certain error is.
Sweepback of only another of sound,
Of light breeze and downy of khlop’.

Woods are likable, dark and deep,
But I have promises to hold,
And miles, is which necessary to go before I I sleep,
And mile, is which necessary to go before I I sleep.

(I debated whether or not to edit a little of the translation, since it translated я сплю as I I sleep, since I is both literally stated (я) and implied from the conjugation of the verb (сплю), but decided against it because I lack the facility to make such corrections to the other languages I’m using here. Khlop’ should be flakes (хлопья, transliterated to khlopya), and I don’t know where “think 4 he knows” comes from.)

Now for the French version:

With which drink that it is me think that I know,
Its house is in the village however.
It will not see me ceasing here,
To observe its wood fill of snow.

My small horse must think it fag,
Almost to stop without farm,
Between wood and the frozen lake,
The most sunk evening year.

It gives to its bells of harness a jolt,
To ask whether there is a certain error.
Only other the field noise,
Easy wind and duveteux flake.

Wood are beautiful, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles with going before I sleep,
And of the miles to going before I sleep.

(No, I’m not making up what the small horse thinks of it–try it for yourself!)

And the German:

Whom wood, which you these think I are the fact that I know
Is its house in the village.
He does not see me to stop here
To fill in order to watch out its wood, with snow above.

My small horse must think it sonderling,
In order to stop without a farmhouse,
Between the wood and the frozen lake close,
The darkest evening of the yearly.

He gives to his wire bells a vibration
To ask over whether it any error gives.
Only different the loop of the clay/tone,
The simple wind and downy the flake.

The wood is attractive deeply, darkly and,
But I have promises to hold
And the miles to go, before I sleep,
To go and the miles to before I sleep.

And a last one, in Italian:

Of who wood these are I tasks that I know,
Its house is in the village however.
That it will not see it to stop here,
To watch its wood to fill up itself in on snow.

My small horse must think it finocchio,
In order to arrest without one near small farm,
Between the wood and the lago frozen,
The darker evening of the year.

It gives to its flange of the wiring a jolt,
In order to ask if there is a sure error.
The swept one of only the other sound,
easy wind and the lanuginoso ribbon.

The wood is beautiful, dark and deep,
But I have the promises to maintain
And the miles to go before that it sleeps
And miles to go before that sleeps.

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