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.
by Sara Teasdale from Collected Poems, Revised Edition. © Simon & Schuster, 1967.
I love this poem because it puts my worries and fear in perspective. Like looking up at the sky and witnessing the complexities of galaxies and wormholes and our universe that just goes on and on and on. Sometimes feeling small, and even a little insignificant is just a huge relief. The enormity of it all takes the pressure off.
It's like that great Oscar Wilde quote, "Life is too important to be taken seriously."