Dear all we shall no more be walking,
So late in night,
Though the heart still be pining,
And the moon still be cool and bright.
For the lovers roam out, stealth,
And the passions out wears the breast,
And the heart must brood to breathe,
And love birds have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
but the day returns too soon,
Yet we will go no more for walking,
By the light of the haunted loom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem