There Will Come Soft Rains


There will come soft rains
And the smell of the ground
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound

And frogs in the pools, singing at night
And wild plum trees in tremulous white

Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone

By Sara Teasdale, from her collection, "Flame and Shadow," published in 1920

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