Sarah 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.

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More Poems by Sarah Teasdale
• Barter
• I Am Not Yours
• Let It Be Forgotten
• Stars
• There Will Come Soft Rain

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Sara Teasdale There Will Come Soft Rain - Poem Lyrics - Sarah Teasdale - There Will Come Soft Rain