There Will Come Soft Rains There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;And frogs in the pool singing at night,And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;Robins will wear their feathery fireWhistling their whims on a low fence-wire;And not one will know of the war, not oneWill care at last when it is done.Not one would mind, neither bird nor treeIf mankind perished utterly;And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,Would scarcely know that we were gone. Flame and Shadow