The Rambling Sailor/The Call

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THE CALL
  FROM our low seat beside the fire Where we have dozed and dreamed and watched the glow  Or raked the ashes, stopping soWe scarcely saw the sun or rain  Above, or looked much higherThan this same quiet red or burned-out fire.      To-night we heard a call,      A rattle on the window-pane,      A voice on the sharp air,And felt a breath stirring our hair,  A flame within us: Something swift and tall  Swept in and out and that was all.Was it a bright or a dark angel? Who can know?  It left no mark upon the snow,    But suddenly it snapped the chain    Unbarred, flung wide the door    Which will not shut again;  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 yet we do not knowWho called, or what marks we shall leave upon the snow.


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