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.
Back to Robert Frost
            Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓
            
            
            
            
            
        
        
    



 
                      
			
To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.