From our low seat beside the fire,

Where we have dozed and dreamed,

              and watched the glow,

              or raked the ashes, stopping so

We scarcely saw the sun and rain above

              or looked much higher

              than this same quiet red and burned out fire

Tonight we heard a call…

And so we cannot sit here any more.

We must arise and go:

The world is cold without

              and dark and hedged about

              with mystery and enmity and doubt.

But we must go

              though we do not know

Who called, or

What marks we shall leave upon the snow.

Charlotte Mew (1869-1928), The Call.