Роберт Фрост. Стихи, Перевод Александра
Шаракшанэ
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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,
It will be long ere the
earliest bird:
So close the windows and
not hear the wind,
But see all wind-stirred.