Зера Черкесова1  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. Хотя и считается, что стих Сары Тисдейл "замылен" переводами, но с этим...