There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, The swallows circling with their shimmering sound; And frogs in the pools singing at night, And wild plum-trees in tremulous white . . .
No 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 TeasdaleGod, in his mercy, chose to give us a break…