The Thursday Poem

Potted Flowers with Books IV
Eric Barjot


Sonnet 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments.  Love is not love
Which alters where 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.

William Shakespeare
(23rd April 1564 - 23rd April 1616)