So We'll Go No More A-roving
by George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron (1788–1824)
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 a 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.
