Poem by Robert Lee Frost

Now Close the Windows

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.

1. The Housekeeper
2. The Sound of the Trees
3. Love and a Question
4. On a Tree Fallen Across the Road
5. Acceptance

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