Sit Transit Gloria Mundi


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 hear 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.



The transitory nature of life on Mother Earth is nicely put in this lovely poem by Sara Teasdale, showing that however high and mighty we may think we have become, we are only shadows and dust in the greater scheme of things. 

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