Sonnet 116

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-fixèd 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.

William Shakespeare

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