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 wandâ€™ring bark,
Whose worthâ€™s unknown, although his height be taken.
Loveâ€™s not Timeâ€™s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickleâ€™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.