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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."
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*Jumping up and down - waiving hand*
ReplyDelete"I know it, I know it! It´s my pal William!"
(Well, since nobody answered I had to do it myself right)
;)
Ha, ha.
ReplyDeleteI know you like Will too honey
;)