We'll go no more a-roving
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.   

---------------------------------------------------------

Upon the Death of Sir Albert Morton's Wife
Sir Henry Wotton

He first deceased; she for a little tried
To live without him, liked it not, and died.

---------------------------------------------------------

The Lover in Winter Plaineth for the Spring
Anonymous

Western wind, when will thou blow
The small rain down can rain?
Christ, if my love were in my arms
And I in my bed again!