Lord Byron
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

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