“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 even love 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.”
(Lovely evenings make me melancholy, but not in a bad way! Sweet dreams O Ratty! )