Soft Rains Will Come

Soft rains will come and the smell of the ground

And swallows circling with their shimmering sound

And frogs in the pools singing all the night

And the wild plum trees in their tremulous white

Robins will wear their feathery fire

And whistle their whims on a low fence-wire

And not one will know of the war, no not one

Nor care at last when it all boils down

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree

If all mankind perished utterly

And Spring herself when she awoke at dawn

Would scarcely know that we all were gone