There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs will sing in the pools at night,
With wild plum trees in tremulous white;
And the Robin will wear her feathery fire,
Whistling her whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of war, not one
No one will care at last when it is done.
Not one would notice, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she awoke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
-- Sara Teasdale, 1920
For obvious reasons this poem finds its way into every GW story arc I've ever run. -- Preacher
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