Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worths unknown, although his height be taken. Loves not Times fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickles compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Posted on: Fri, 15 Nov 2013 17:52:50 +0000
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