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 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