Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
So It BefellEda Lou Walton
From “Beyond Sorrow”
W
And full of pain,
I remember
A certain little lane
Where every night,
At half-past seven,
The train flashed by
On its way to heaven.
Watching in the lane,
Dreamed of riding
Inside the train—
Away from the wide
Sun-flowered plain
And tall fields of
High rolling grain.
And strangely sane,
I remember
A certain little lane,
Where, on one night—
So it befell—
The train passed heaven
On its way to hell.