Llegarán suaves lluvias.
There Will Come Soft Rains,
Llegarán suaves lluvias, y el aroma de la tierra,
y las golondrinas llamarán con sus débiles cantos;
Y ranas en los estanques cantarán por la noche,
y ciruelos silvestres de tembloroso blanco.
Los petirrojos vestirán su fuego emplumado,
silbando sus caprichos sobre una alambrada.
Y nadie sabrá sobre la guerra, nadie
se preocupará al final, cuando todo haya terminado.
A nadie le importará, ni al pájaro ni al árbol,
si la humanidad pereció completamente;
Y la Primavera misma, cuando despierte al amanecer
apenas se daría cuenta que nos hemos ido.
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows calling 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 calling 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.
