The Hill of Gold

1895

The ragged rail fence just loafed along,
In a leisurely, zigzag line,
Down the side of the hill and wandered out
To the murmuring slopes of pine.

And I had only to climb the fence,
Or go through a crumbling gap,
To let gold spill down out of my arms
And overflow from my lap.

And the fence never cared a single bit,
For all it was there to guard,
And I might have doubled my golden spoils
Untroubled of watch or ward.

A careless old fence, and yet the hill
Broke splendidly on the eyes —
Gold clear out to the west, my dear,
And gold clear up to the skies!

And you needn't say, "Oh, it's a fairy tale!"
With that odd little scornful nod,
For it happens to be our own East hill
Grown over with goldenrod.

— Fanny Kemble Johnson.