There Will Come Soft Rains by Sara Teasdale
Saved again by a generous poetry-sharer! I love just about everything I’ve ever read by Sara Teasdale, which is sadly, not nearly enough. I need to get a collection or two of hers, I think. Thanks for introducing me to a new (to me) poem of hers.
There Will Come Soft Rains
By Sara Teasdale
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.
So lovely to find you. I very much like the poetry you post. Thanks so much.
Yours truly,
One Among the Masses
Thanks for commenting. I’m glad you’re enjoying the poems!