And the poem went like this:

‘Will you walk into my parlour?’ said the spider to the fly,
‘ ’Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy,
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I’ve got many curious things to show when you are there.’
‘Oh, no, no,’ said the little fly, ‘to ask me is in vain,
For whoever goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.’

Alice turned up abruptly, noticing that not only had the crow finished his poem, but that he was now flying away, over the stream. Alice stood up and waved to him, “Wait, I want to hear the rest of your poem,” she called, “Where are you going?”
The crow glided over the stream and onto the other side where a small hill went upward. Alice couldn’t quite see past the top of the hill, but she could still manage to see the bird flying up it. Alice glanced behind her where Julia was nowhere to be found.