(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.
There Will Come Soft Rains
Sara Teasdale
(1)
Poem topics: fire, night, spring, time, tree, bird, wild, white, smell, mind, fence, soft, sound, dawn, war, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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