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 souls outwears 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 to soon,
Yet we’ll go no more a roving
By the light of the moon.
George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788-1824)
Taken from Classic Readings and Poems