There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,And swallows circling with their shimmering s
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 oneWill 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 dawnWould scarcely know that we were gone.–Sara Teasdale -- source link
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