Verse > Anthologies > Harriet Monroe, ed. > Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22
Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936).  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.  1912–22.
Tommies in the Train
By D. H. Lawrence
THE SUN shines.
The coltsfoot flowers along the railway banks
Shine flat like coin which Zeus in thanks
Showers on our lines.
A steeple        5
In purplish elms; daffodils
Sparkle beneath; luminous hills
Beyond—but no people.
England—O Danaë
To this spring of cosmic gold        10
Which falls on your lap of mould!
What then are we?
What are we—
Clay-colored, who roll in fatigue
As the train runs league after league        15
From our destiny?
Some hand is over my face,
Some dark hand. Peeping through the fingers,
I see a world that lingers
Behind, yet keeps pace.        20
Always, as I peep
Through the fingers that cover my face,
Something seems falling from place,
Seems to roll down the steep.
Is it the train,        25
That falls like a meteorite
Backward in space, to alight
Never again?
Or is it the illusory world,
That falls from reality        30
As we look? Or are we
Like a thunderbolt hurled?
One or another
We are lost, since we fall apart
Forever, forever depart        35
From each other.

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