There Will Come Soft Rains

(War Time)

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. 

-- Sara Teasdale