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.
Oh no; it is an ever-fixed 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
(I confess to having changed the punctuation a little, but with the way these things have changed, I thought a tiny tweek made the reading easier. Feel free to abuse me :)
YOU ARE READING
Poems In The Light
PoetryA small collection of my personal favourites, the silly, the clever and the profane... Maybe you can suggest your own preferences?
