Ah! We have dwelt in Arcady long time <br />With sun and youth eternal round our ways <br />And in the magic of that golden clime <br />We loved the pageant of the passing days. <br /> <br />The wonderful white dawns of frost and flame <br />In winter, and the swift sun’s upward leap; <br />Or summer’s stealthy wakening that came <br />Soft as a whisper on the lips of sleep. <br /> <br />And there were woodland hollows of green lawn, <br />Where boys with windy hair and wine wet lips <br />Danced on the sun-splashed grass; and hills of dawn <br />That looked out seaward to the distant ships. <br /> <br />In infinite still night the moon swam low <br />And saffron in a silver dusted sky; <br />Beauty and sorrow hand in hand with slow <br />Soft wings and soundless passage wandered by. <br /> <br />And white roads vanishing beneath the sky <br />Called for our feet, and there were countless things <br />That we must see and do, while blood was high <br />And time still hovered on reluctant wings. <br /> <br />And these were good; yet in our hearts we knew <br />These were not all, - that still through toil and pains <br />Deeds of a purer lustre given to few, <br />Made for the perfect glory that remains. <br /> <br />And when the summons in our ears was shrill <br />Unshaken in our trust we rose, and then <br />Flung but a backward glance, and care-free still <br />Went strongly forth to do the work of men.<br /><br />William Noel Hodgson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-call-47/
