There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, <br />And swallows circling with their shimmering sound; <br /> <br />And frogs in the pools singing at night, <br />And wild plum trees in tremulous white; <br /> <br />Robins will wear their feathery fire, <br />Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire; <br /> <br />And not one will know of the war, not one <br />Will care at last when it is done. <br /> <br />Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree, <br />If mankind perished utterly; <br /> <br />And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn <br />Would scarcely know that we were gone.<br /><br />Sara Teasdale<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/there-will-come-soft-rains/
