(War Time)

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.

A delicate fabric of bird song

  Floats in the air,

The smell of wet wild earth

  Is everywhere.

Red small leaves of the maple

  Are clenched like a hand,

Like girls at their first communion

  The pear trees stand.

Oh I must pass nothing by

  Without loving it much,

The raindrop try with my lips,

  The grass with my touch;

For how can I be sure

  I shall see again

The world on the first of May

  Shining after the rain?