So, we'll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving, the moon be still as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath, 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. we'll go no more a roving By the light of the moon.