Soft rains will come and the smell of the ground
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound
And frogs in the pools singing all the night
And the wild plum trees in their tremulous white
Robins will wear their feathery fire
And whistle their whims on a low fence-wire
And not one will know of the war, no not one
Nor care at last when it all boils down
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If all mankind perished utterly
And Spring herself when she awoke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we all were gone