सैरा टीएस्डैल । Sara Teasdale


Sara TeasdaleThere will come soft rain by Sara Teasdale

There will come soft rain
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.