Teasdale, Sara: Mlake kiše dolaze (There Will Come Soft Rains in Serbian)

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.

Mlake kiše dolaze i miris zemlje
I sa zvukom radosti let lastavice;
 
I noću na jezeru žabokrečina,
I drhtaj divljih stabala šljiva,
 
Crvendaći će doneti pernatu vatru
Sa zviždukom svojih hirova na santraču;
 
I niko neće spomenuti rata,
Niko neće upitati dal će biti ikada.
 
Upit ne postavlja ni ptica ni drvo
Ako posve nestane čovečanstvo;
 
I Proleće kad novi život mami,
Da nas nema jedva će znati.