Love

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediment; 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 comes
Love alters not with his brief days and weeks
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and against me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare