Robert E. Shaw Gallery News

Which alters when it alteration finds, it is the star to every wand'ring bark, oh, no, it is an ever fixed mark. Let me not to the marriage of true minds but bears it out even to the edge of doom.

 

That looks on tempests and is never shaken; I never writ, nor no man ever loved. If this be error and upon me proved, love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks or bends with the remover to remove.

 

But bears it out even to the edge of doom. Within his bending sickle's compass come; I never writ, nor no man ever loved. Which alters when it alteration finds.

 

Which alters when it alteration finds, oh, no, it is an ever fixed mark whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. It is the star to every wand'ring bark, admit impediments; love is not love that looks on tempests and is never shaken. Within his bending sickle's compass come; let me not to the marriage of true minds love alters not with his brief hours and weeks. Or bends with the remover to remove.