Saturday, July 4, 2009

Comfort poem

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 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.

Sara Teasdale


CJGallegos said...

Humbling too.

runnerfrog said...

I highly admire Sara Teasdale's moral association of beauty with natural harmony, and her highly lyrical facing of death; "Spring in war time" is another one I love... even so, numb is to say that right today, after the intercontinental missile test, reading her it is more discomforting than comforting for this frog.
Good effort.

GREENLEAF! said...

Oh, wow.
This poem is really beautiful.

AMGallegos said...

It's pretty, but not very comforting (unless you're a robin)

Tai said...

I can't explain it, but the idea that someday humankind may vacate the Earth makes me feel better. Maybe I'm really a robin.