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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=355404" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Voice</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=355404" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">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.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Charlotte+Mary+Mew">Charlotte Mary Mew</a></strong></div>

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