Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alternations finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no; it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks at 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 hour and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error, and upon me prov’d, I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.
Thursday, September 8, 2016
Let Me Not To the Marriage Of...
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