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 alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
~William Shakespeare: Sonnet 116~
No comments:
Post a Comment