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
by Sara Teasdale
6 comments:
Beautiful - and so true. Thanks Al
Lovely word pictures. That smell of the ground when rain first strikes. But, gloomy to think that the seasons might go on and no one to note or appreciate. Rather like the statement in science class years ago--that if a tree falls in the woods and no human hears/interprets, then there is no sound?
I agree - very beautiful! A lovely Sunday post.
I studied this poem in junior high. Never forgot it. Thanks for the reminder.
How beautiful. I've never come across this poem before. Reminds me of men writing of the larks singing above the trenches in WW1.
Thanks all,
I too loved this of course - hence it appearing in this series. I thought too it was very evocative of those first world war poets in its rythm and imagery.....
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