Текст оригинала на английском языке
From our low seat beside the fire Where we have dozed and dreamed, and watched the glow Or raked the ashes, stooping so We scarcely saw the sun and rain Through the small curtained window-pane, Or looked much higher Than this same quiet red or burned-out fire, Tonight we heard a call, 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 made no mark upon the snow; But suddenly, in passing, 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 know Who called, or what marks we shall leave upon the snow.
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