Sunday, 22 January 2006

Today is the 219th birthday of George Gordon Noel, 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.

4 comments:

irate mama said...

Happy Birthday George - thanks for pointing it out for us.

Nell Dixon said...

I love Byron.

Annette said...

What a beautiful poem.Have kept it in the "favourites" file!
Thanks for printing it.

Rosie said...

Wedded she was some years, and to a man
Of fifty, and such husbands are in plenty;
And yet, I think, instead of such a ONE
'T were better to have TWO of five -and -twenty,
Especially in countries near the sun:
And now I think on 't, 'mi vien in mente,'
Ladies even of the most uneasy virtue
Prefer a spouse whose age is short of thirty.


Stephen, you never told me you knew my friend Julie Cohen!