So It Befell / Eda Lou Walton

So It Befell
When the day is long 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. There you and I, Watching in the lane, Dreamed of riding Inside the train— Away from the wide Sun-flowered plain And tall fields of High rolling grain. When night is long 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.