[ SO, WE’LL GO NO MORE A ROVING]
I 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.
II 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.
III 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.
[ SONG]
Where the bee sucks, there suck I: In a cowslip’s bell I lie; There I couch, when owls do cry: On the bat’s back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough!