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.
Now Close The Windows
Robert Lee Frost
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Poem topics: loss, hear, wind, bird, long, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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