Now Close the Windows, By Robert Frost

Now close the windows and hush all the fields:
    If the trees must, let them silently toss;
No bird is singing in them 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.