Lord Byron

• So, we’ll go no more a-roving
  
• So late into the night,
  
• 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.