c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-13–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-12–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-11–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-10–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-9–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-8–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-7–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-6–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-5–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-4–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-3–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-2–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-1–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-0–>font face=”verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif” size=”2″>That last poem (W Allingham’s The Fairies) brought back another old favourite in the same vein. I thought I’d share it with you! This one is by that perennial favourite English exile in Greece, Lord Byron. I cannot remember which primary teacher introduced it to me, but I thank him/her for doing so.
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 the 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.