Poetic Interlude LXXXI

We’ll Go No More A-Roving
George Gordon, 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 must 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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About Ty DeLyte

Madame DeLyte has suffered a grave disappointment - YET AGAIN - and still believes that freedom, beauty, and truth are what's valuable, rather than vulgar cash. He'd add love to that list - but, well, what can he say about love?
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