| 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 worth's unknown,
although his height be taken. |
| Love's not Time's fool,
though rosy lips and cheeks |
|
Within his bending
sickle's 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. |
