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- There Will Come Soft Rains
- Sara Teasdale - 1884-1933
- 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.
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