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.
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.
Some more poetry to dance to, on the last night of the world:
- A Song On the End of the World (Czeslaw Milosz)
- Fire and Ice (Robert Frost)
- The Hollow Men (T.S. Eliot)
Got other suggestions? List 'em in the comments!
3 comments:
Mayan Doomsday Calendar Blues
The air is pounding on my skin
the sunlight hurts my hair
to rub my fingers on my chin
is racket I can’t bear.
This wouldn’t be the Armageddon
aftermath I’d choose –
I’ve got the Mayan doomsday calendar blues.
I did the lines, I smoked the pot
I fucked what I could seize,
and now the doctor says I’ve got
a dozen STDs.
So now my only hope is to
convert all the Jews –
I’ve got the Mayan doomsday calendar blues.
I maxed out every credit card
I spent my pension plan
I’m stupid as the avant garde
and poorer than Sudan
And what the hell are all of these
exotic tattoos?
I’ve got the Mayan doomsday calendar blues.
When some prediction picks you
belief that really sticks you
anxiety can tighten the screws –
and then you start depending
on universal ending
instead of on your rational views.
I hope that you avoided this
and thought it was a hoax
and stayed as neutral as the Swiss,
and laughed at Mayan jokes --
instead of peeing blood like me, and
bleeding chartreuse.
I’ve got the Mayan doomsday calendar blues:
Those feathered-serpent stone-carved long-count
calendar blues --
the news was all over the news.
Yes, Q'uq'umatz may now consume the world
and then snooze,
But Mayans only brought me the blues –
Those hooker-making, mushroom-taking,
nights fueled with booze –
the Mayans only brought me the blues:
the Mayan doomsday calendar blues.
And today's New Verse News:
New Verse News
"...Let all expect a magical ascent.
The End is now an annual event."
Thank you for this- I love (and have always loved) Sara Teasdale.
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