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So We'll Go No More a Roving

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 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.

-Lord Byron, 1817