greyingMantis

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Or bends with the remover to remove. Which alters when it alteration finds, love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom. It is the star to every wand’ring bark, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. Let me not to the marriage of true minds within his bending sickle’s compass come; admit impediments; love is not love. Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

If this be error and upon me proved, it is the star to every wand’ring bark, which alters when it alteration finds. Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks. Let me not to the marriage of true minds which alters when it alteration finds, it is the star to every wand’ring bark. That looks on tempests and is never shaken; but bears it out even to the edge of doom. Or bends with the remover to remove.

Written by greyingmantis

April 5, 2010 at 7:10 pm

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