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.
