Sunday, March 18, 2012



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
Flame and Shadow


Conrad DiDiodato said...

An interesting Teasdale,Plath and Sexton nexus--there's a book waiting to be written.

Thanks for reminder of another lost poetic soul, Bob

Bob Arnold / Longhouse said...

I've got a good idea who could write this book
but he's presently tied up with a Samperi,
a most elegant tie-up
is Conrad

all's well, Bob