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 wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's
unknown, although his heighth 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.