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.