So we'll go no more a roving,
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the night be still as bright.
For the sword outwears the sheath,
And the soul wears out its 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.
--George G.N., Lord Byron (1788-1824)
