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-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 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.