Admit impediments . 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 wort's unknown, although his height be taken
Love's not tome's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
With 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 write , nor no man ever loved.
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