We'll go No More A-Roving
We'll go no more a-roving by the light of the moon.
November glooms are barren beside the dusk of June.
The summer flowers are faded, the summer thoughts are sere.
We'll go no more a-roving, lest worse befall, my dear.
We'll go no more a-roving by the light of the moon.
The song we sang rings hollow, and heavy runs the tune.
Glad ways and words remembered would shame the wretched year.
We'll go no more a-roving, nor dream we did, my dear.
We'll go no more a-roving by the light of the moon.
If yet we walk together, we need not shun the noon.
No sweet thing left to savour, no sad thing left to fear,
We'll go no more a-roving, but weep at home, my dear.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Related quotes
So 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.
poem by Byron (1817)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Go No More A-Roving
So well 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 outwears 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 well go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon.
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Gigolo Lies in Wait
He is hit by the beams of her roving eyes
and swept off to the sky by her sensual looks.
But reach his ears to her groans and longing sighs.
Those who have no feel of love hate the mad guys
who keep open the pages of their hearts' books.
He is hit by the beams of her roving eyes.
The rogues who share the bed where the strumpet lies,
dare to kill the sparrows which chirp by the brooks.
But reach his ears to her groans and longing sighs.
The poofs and ponces who feel no lovers' ties
live in peace undisturbed by the rabbles' hooks.
He is hit by the beams of her roving eyes.
Her orgling glances are her restless heart's spies
who know not the pangs of a bloke, a girl rooks.
But reach his ears to her groans and longing sighs.
When armed men mob to lynch, his heart soars and flies.
Gigabytes of news they get from all the nooks.
But he's hit by the beams of her roving eyes.
And reach his ears to her groans and longing sighs.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Singing Tree
(words & music by owens - solberg)
Youre the one who beckoned the wind
And fanned the flame when our love began
So dont pretend you dont know me
Our names are carved on you, singing tree
Oh singing tree
Sing to me
Call your friend
The roving wind
Maybe he can find my love
And bring her back, singing tree
Your leaves have turned from green to blue
Sometimes I think you loved her too
But since she left and our love died
You stand petrified, singing tree
Oh sing to me
Singing tree
Call your friend
The roving wind
Maybe he can find my love
And bring her back, singing tree
Oh sing to me
Singing tree
Call your friend
The roving wind
Maybe he can find my love
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Roving Band Of Lovers
They were a Roving Band of Lovers
kissing hands
smiling and winking.
They bowed to old ladies on the streets
over-tipped waiters
gave young girls flowers
for no reason.
They never cried;
stood on tip-toe
and invited people
to see Infinity;
did dances in the streets
and little plays in the subways;
carried around little cookie trays
made music with harmonicas.
They were a Little Band of Roving Lovers
who made strangers
the Stars
of little Street Plays
asking
'Madam who would you like to be
a star? an astronaut, a great leader?
and then they would produce the prop
and act the play
where instantly
the dream would be
and street stranger
would miraculously
become the Dream They Had Dreamed.
while others looked on.
Singers
bad, good or worse
had the audience to join in
and all songs sound good when sung in crowds.
For True Love's Wish
they produced a Satin Heart
which they passed round the crowd
where each person gave the heart
a tiny touch;
assuring that True Love would come
in time to its recipient.
They were a roving Band of Lovers
Loose on the City Streets.
They were both Real
and Fantasy.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Una
Roving, roving, as it seems,
Una lights my clouded dreams;
Still for journeys she is dressed;
We wander far by east and west.
In the homestead, homely thought;
At my work I ramble not;
If from home chance draw me wide,
Half-seen Una sits beside.
In my house and garden-plot,
Though beloved, I miss her not;
But one I seek in foreign places,
One face explore in foreign faces.
At home a deeper thought may light
The inward sky with chrysolite,
And I greet from far the ray,
Aurora of a dearer day.
But if upon the seas I sail,
Or trundle on the glowing rail,
I am but a thought of hers,
Loveliest of travellers.
So the gentle poet's name
To foreign parts is blown by fame;
Seek him in his native town,
He is hidden and unknown.
poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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You Are The Moon
i shall walk the streets alone tonight
there is no life at home
i must get out to watch the prettier ones
i want to talk but they don't listen
i want to live, i want to love
You are the moon, on a stormy ocean
full moon, uncaring space
bright moon with all reservation
i must be what i must be
for no one's the same
Roving streets libidos flow
Forgotten Sky, alone you're Dry
I want to live, I always want to love
You are the full moon bright on the Sky
Hiding your feelings Alone you Cry
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Stave Of Roving Tim
(ADDRESSED TO CERTAIN FRIENDLY TRAMPS.)
I
The wind is East, the wind is West,
Blows in and out of haven;
The wind that blows is the wind that's best,
And croak, my jolly raven!
If here awhile we jigged and laughed,
The like we will do yonder;
For he's the man who masters a craft,
And light as a lord can wander.
So, foot the measure, Roving Tim,
And croak, my jolly raven!
The wind according to its whim
Is in and out of haven.
II
You live in rows of snug abodes,
With gold, maybe, for counting;
And mine's the beck of the rainy roads
Against the sun a-mounting.
I take the day as it behaves,
Nor shiver when 'tis airy;
But comes a breeze, all you are on waves,
Sick chickens o' Mother Carey!
So, now for next, cries Roving Tim,
And croak, my jolly raven!
The wind according to its whim
Is in and out of haven.
III
Sweet lass, you screw a lovely leer,
To make a man consider.
If you were up with the auctioneer,
I'd be a handsome bidder.
But wedlock clips the rover's wing;
She tricks him fly to spider;
And when we get to fights in the Ring,
It's trumps when you play outsider.
So, wrench and split, cries Roving Tim,
And croak, my jolly raven!
The wind according to its whim
Is in and out of haven.
IV
Along my winding way I know
A shady dell that's winking;
The very corner for Self and Co
To do a world of thinking.
And shall I this? and shall I that?
Till Nature answers, ne'ther!
Strike match and light your pipe in your hat,
Rejoicing in sound shoe-leather!
So lead along, cries Roving Tim,
And croak, my jolly raven!
The wind according to its whim
Is in and out of haven.
V
A cunning hand 'll hand you bread,
With freedom for your capers.
I'm not so sure of a cunning head;
It steers to pits or vapours.
But as for Life, we'll bear in sight
The lesson Nature teaches;
Regard it in a sailoring light,
And treat it like thirsty leeches.
So, fly your jib, cries Roving Tim,
And top your boom, old raven!
The wind according to its whim
Is in and out of haven.
VI
She'll take, to please her dame and dad,
The shopman nicely shaven.
She'll learn to think o' the marching lad
When perchers show they're craven.
You say the shopman piles a heap,
While I perhaps am fasting;
And bless your wits, it haunts him in sleep,
His tin-kettle chance of lasting!
So hail the road, cries Roving Tim,
And hail the rain, old raven!
The wind according to its whim
Is in and out of haven.
VII
He's half a wife, yon pecker bill;
A book and likewise preacher.
With any soul, in a game of skill,
He'll prove your over-reacher.
The reason is, his brains are bent
On doing things right single.
You'd wish for them when pitching your tent
At night in a whirly dingle!
So, off we go, cries Roving Tim,
And on we go, old raven!
The wind according to its whim
Is in and out of haven.
VIII
Lord, no, man's lot is not for bliss;
To call it woe is blindness:
It'll here a kick, and it's there a kiss,
And here and there a kindness.
He starts a hare and calls her joy;
He runs her down to sorrow:
The dogs within him bother the boy,
But 'tis a new day to-morrow.
So, I at helm, cries Roving Tim,
And you at bow, old raven!
The wind according to its whim
Is in and out of haven.
poem by George Meredith
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In the Workshop
ONCE in the Workshop, ages ago,
The clay was wet and the fire was low.
And He who was bent on fashioning man
Moulded a shape from a clod,
And put the loyal heart therein;
While another stood watching by.
‘What’s that?' said Beelzebub.
‘A lover,’ said God.
And Beelzebub frowned, for he knew that kind.
And then God fashioned a fellow shape
As lithe as a willow rod,
And gave it the merry roving eye
And the range of the open road.
‘What’s that?' said Beelzebub.
‘A vagrant,’ said God.
And Beelzebub smiled, for he knew that kind.
And last of all God fashioned a form,
And gave it, what was odd,
The loyal heart, and the roving eye;
And he whistled, light of care.
‘What’s that?' said Beelzebub.
‘A poet,’ said God.
And Beelzebub frowned, for he did not know.
poem by Bliss Carman
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Heavy Pup
They sang it was so
Even witout words,
That Malakui, the Brightest One,
Had a pup conjoined.
We celebrated for many years.
We worshiped the oscillating stars
And their constant cousins,
Granfather Moon,
The Blood Star and the
Roving Lion Pair.
I, Himantiab, was the man
In the jungle moving,
Who first the little ones observed.
In my loinclout they laid hands upon my shoulders,
Brought me down to my knees,
And when feeling my face and lips
I first heard their song without words,
Their song of lights in the newborn gaseous sky.
Some came from far North,
A group of Whites,
And they wanted to know
How we knew of the Heavy Pup.
We kept the secret of those
Who sang witout words.
So they gave us the wrong name,
The Unnaming Tribe, or some such,
Not Dogon,
And we laughed around
The fires of eternity.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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Seen By The Waits
Through snowy woods and shady
We went to play a tune
To the lonely manor-lady
By the light of the Christmas moon.
We violed till, upward glancing
To where a mirror leaned,
We saw her airily dancing,
Deeming her movements screened;
Dancing alone in the room there,
Thin-draped in her robe of night;
Her postures, glassed in the gloom there,
Were a strange phantasmal sight.
She had learnt (we heard when homing)
That her roving spouse was dead;
Why she had danced in the gloaming
We thought, but never said.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Song #1
Mary, leave thy lowly cot
When thy thickest jobs are done;
When thy friends will miss thee not,
Mary, to the pastures run.
Where we met the other night
Neath the bush upon the plain,
Be it dark or be it light,
Ye may guess we'll meet again.
Should ye go or should ye not,
Never shilly-shally, dear.
Leave your work and leave your cot,
Nothing need ye doubt or fear:
Fools may tell ye lies in spite,
Calling me a roving swain;
Think what passed the other night--
I'll be bound ye'll meet again.
poem by John Clare
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Guard your roving thoughts with a jealous care, for speech is but the dialer of thoughts, and every fool can plainly read in your words what is the hour of your thoughts.
quote by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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humor ***** LOVERS MOON IN A PROHIBITED PARK
A tardy moon
rushing down the park
Pair of lovers
await
kissing among slight darkness
above the risks of grass bites
blushing out flesh to flesh
under late comer
moon lit
Lovers moon
Lovers moon
Quickly ascending now
the farther it goes up
the deeper..................
the lover's intimacy
and the roving lady
guard steps closer
issuing tickets for their penalties
' this park prohibits
lewd dating and stealing romances '
poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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Somewhere Up In Queensland
He's somewhere up in Queensland,
The old folks used to say;
He’s somewhere up in Queensland,
The people say to-day.
But Somewhere (up in Queensland)
That uncle used to know—
That filled our hearts with wonder,
Seems vanished long ago.
He’s gone to Queensland, droving,
The old folks used to say;
He’s gone to Queensland, droving,
The people say to-day.
But “gone to Queensland, droving,”
Might mean, in language plain,
He follows stock in buggies,
And gets supplies by train.
He’s knocking round in Queensland,
The old folks used to say;
He’s gone to Queensland, roving,
His sweetheart says to-day.
But “gone to Queensland, roving”
By mighty plain and scrub,
Might mean he drives a motor-car
For Missus Moneygrub.
He’s looking for new country,
The old folks used to say;
Our boy has gone exploring,
Fond parents say to-day.
“Exploring” out in Queensland
Might only mean to some
He’s salesman in “the drapery”
Of a bush emporium.
To somewhere up in Queensland
Went Tom and Ted and Jack;
From somewhere up in Queensland
The dusty cheques come back:
From somewhere up in Queensland
Brown drovers used to come,
And someone up in Queensland
Kept many a southern home.
Somewhere up in Queensland,
How many black sheep roam,
Who never write a letter,
And never think of home.
For someone up in Queensland
How many a mother spoke;
For someone up in Queensland
How many a girl’s heart broke.
poem by Henry Lawson
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So we'll go no more a-roving
so we'll go no
more a-roving
your breath spent
concern shown
all the words said
in the stillness of the road
my heart roared
tracks of our walk
overgrown with spring grass
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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If you have a roving eye, it's no use having the other one fixed on Heaven.
Ode To The Moon's Tragedy
The moon rises in all its glory
as each star tells its story,
Of wars with the sun,
Of a time when it had its own light.
How with jealousy it was done,
whilst the moon the sun did benight.
I remember when they each other loved.
Then the sun began to court,
the mighty cloud Oort.
To its missiles it lent its light.
It adorned them with radiance bright,
and the moon was left in the dark.
Weep not, O glorious moon,
even if the sun changes as the sand dune,
for something greater is here.
It has not looked on you with disdain.
Trying to leave his darkness dear,
It will have its own light again.
poem by Soren Valentine
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I see myself as a roving mosquito, choosing it's target.
quote by Kenneth Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Clean Murder
Standing on a beam,
shrine:
holding a black dawn,
my phoenix roving on dark river.
The bell still clangs;
I hear the footsteps.
A weird thought
spreads out on peripherals,
makes holes,
the undone communiqué
of a war
between knuckles;
the blind eyes
lift the fallen globe
of light.
I move from tree to tree.
Who was left unburned?
The sky was overcast.
poem by Satish Verma
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