That Hill

It crawled away from ’neath my feet
And left me standing there;
A little at a time, went up
An atmospheric stair.

I couldn’t go for watching it,
To see where it would stop;
A tree sprang out and waved to me
When 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 go
A-soaring from the dell—
’Twas nearing Heaven every bound,
And fleeing fast from Hell!


From Caroling Dusk (Harper & Brothers, 1927), edited by Countee Cullen. This poem is in the public domain.