So We'll Go No More A Roving

Caspar David Friedrich

 

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.

Gordon, Lord Byron

When I read this, it seems like a different shade of the strange emotion I feel as I look out at the people walking by, people from my neighbourhood, people actually looking around and observing, even looking at me in my window – people who must live near enough to walk here, whom I've never seen till now. Or the people in the staggered line at the grocery store – silent, nervous, hesitant to smile. People! So close and yet so far. Will we ever go back to that interchange of pleasantries, that hug or handshake, that walk arm in arm? I hadn't thought of it as freedom, that casual proximity. But I see it now. I miss it. I miss walking in the park. But those gates have been shut and lines have been drawn, and we carefully measure the distance between us. Hearts may be as loving, but bodies are constrained. The poem may not be about a pandemic, but the sense of loss and reluctant acceptance of reality is all too familiar.