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 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.



Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)


Solo sung by Krystel Dib

Music & Images by Dimitri Arnauts

© Copyright 2020 Dimitri Arnauts. All rights reserved.