A level land may satisfy and fill
Eyes that are born to it, for all I know,
But everywhere I look I want a hill,
Far off, or near. Sight has somewhere to go
And something worth while, every hour, to do,
Climbing a dozen ridges to the top
Or searching for them through the misty blue.
I like a land where looking doesn’t stop
With flat horizons, where my gaze can roam
Up hill and down, and always be at home.
–From Halfway Up the Sky (winter 1950)