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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.

Poem by Robert Frost
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Book: Shattered Sighs