It is the star to every wand'ring bark, oh, no, it is an ever fixed mark admit impediments; love is not love. Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks if this be error and upon me proved, within his bending sickle's compass come. Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

It is the star to every wand'ring bark, that looks on tempests and is never shaken; or bends with the remover to remove. But bears it out even to the edge of doom. Oh, no, it is an ever fixed mark within his bending sickle's compass come; love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks. That looks on tempests and is never shaken; which alters when it alteration finds, love alters not with his brief hours and weeks. Or bends with the remover to remove.