From our low seat beside the fire br Where we have dozed and dreamed, and watched the glow br Or raked the ashes, stooping so br We scarcely saw the sun and rain br Through the small curtained window-pane, br Or looked much higher br Than this same quiet red or burned-out fire, br Tonight we heard a call, br A voice on the sharp air, br And felt a breath stirring our hair, br A flame within us. Something swift and tall br Swept in and out and that was all. br Was it a bright or a dark angel? Who can know? br It made no mark upon the snow; br But suddenly, in passing, snapped the chain, br Unbarred, flung wide the door br Which will not shut again: br And so we cannot sit here any more. br We must arise and go. br The world is cold without br And dark and hedged about br With mystery and enmity and doubt, br But we must go, br Though yet we do not know br Who called, or what marks we shall leave upon the snow.