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,
An the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breath,
And love itself have rest.
--
Thought 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)