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So we'll go no more a-roaving
so late into the night,
thought 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 it self must rest, and love it self must rest.

Thought the night was made for loving,
and the days returns too soon,
yet we'll go no more a-roaving,
by the light of the moon.

And the moon be still as bright.
And the moon be still as bright...

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