So, we'll go no more a-roving For the sword outwears its sheath, Though the night was made for loving, Labels: poetry
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.
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon.
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Just something that I suddenly remembered from my Secondary One days in NYGH. It's been a while since I read this, but it is as good as I remembered.
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How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count The Ways...
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)