Tuesday, 20 July 2010


Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. 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'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.


  1. Great poem, Nobby. I once sat down to read Will's sonnets, one after another. Every line a gem.

  2. Hi Jamie. In comparison very few come close. Transcendence provides a depth perspective unavailable to those, I think, with a more narrow outlook.