SONNET 116 |
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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 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. |
one of my favorite sonnets, as cliche as it may be.. but today i believe in it.. i'm heartbroken, so there you go, make a feast of me. i don't care..
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