The wide seas and the mountains called him,
And grey dawns saw his camp-fires in the rain.
"Sweet hands might tremble!—aye, but he must go.
Revel might hold him for a little space;
But, turning past the laughter and the lamps,
His eyes must ever catch the luring Face.
"Dear eyes might question! Yea, and melt again;
Rare lips a-quiver, silently implore
But he must ever turn his furtive head,
And hear that other summons at the door.