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
It is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempest, 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 binding sickle's compass come;
Love altars 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 man ever loved.