Let me not to the marriage of true minds /// by William Shakeshpeare

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 prov’d,     I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.