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Now Close the Windows
by Robert Frost
[from A Boy’s Will (1913)]

Now close the windows and hush all the fields:
     If the trees must, let them silently toss;
No bird is singing now, and if there is, 
     Be it my loss.

It will be long ere the marshes resume, 
     I will be long ere the earliest bird:
So close the windows and not hear the wind, 
     But see all wind-stirred.