Sara Teasdale: There will come soft rains

 There will come soft rain 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.    
                     

VENDRÁN LLUVIAS SUAVES


Vendrán lluvias suaves y olores de tierra,
girarán golondrinas con brillantes sonidos;
habrá ranas cantando de noche en los estanques,

y ciruelos de un blanco tembloroso,

y petirrojos de emplumado fuego
que silbarán sobre las alambradas;
y nadie sabrá nada de la guerra
ni se preocuparán de que, por fin, termine.
No le importará a nadie, ni a pájaros ni a árboles,
si la humanidad se extingue totalmente;
la misma Primavera, al despertarse al alba,

no advertiría apenas que nos fuimos.