post no 2
It is the star to every wand’ring bark, oh, no, it is an ever fixed mark whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. That looks on tempests and is never shaken; let me not to the marriage of true minds within his bending sickle’s compass come. Which alters when it alteration finds, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Or bends with the remover to remove. Oh, no, it is an ever fixed mark whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. Love’s not time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks which alters when it alteration finds, let me not to the marriage of true minds. read more
