So, we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the
night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be
still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears
out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have
rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns
too soon
Yet we'll go no more a-roving
By the light of the
moon.
-- Lord Byron
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