A Boy's Willby Robert Frost

The Demiurge's Laugh

A Line-storm Song

Now Close the Windows

It is time to make an end of speaking.

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