lostvampire

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments, love is not love,

Which alters when it alterations find

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O no, it is an ever-fixed mark

That look on the tempest and it’s 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 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.