Caroling Dusk/That Hill

by Blanche Taylor Dickinson

THAT HILL

It crawled away from ’neath my feetAnd left me standing there;A little at a time, went upAn atmospheric stair.

I couldn’t go for watching it,To see where it would stop;A tree sprang out and waved to meWhen it had reached the top.

The tree kept nodding friendly like,Beckoning me to follow;And I went crawling up and up,Like it did from the hollow.

Then I saw why the thing would goA-soaring from the dell—’Twas nearing Heaven every bound,And fleeing fast from Hell!