Given some of the poems I've posted thus far, I'm sure that this week's choice isn't a surprise.
From the original bad boy himself, George Gordon, Lord Byron:
We'll go no more a-roving
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.
Other poems this week are at:
Big A little a;
Blog From The Windowsill;
A Fuse #8 Production;
Here In The Bonny Glen;
The Simple and the Ordinary.
Let me know if I've forgotten you!
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